


Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights

by bexchan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Memory Loss, Post-War, Romance, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexchan/pseuds/bexchan
Summary: One of them is desperately trying to remember their past while the other is forever trying to escape theirs. It's seven years after the war and Draco has managed to avoid almost everyone from Hogwarts, living a lonely life on a small island, far away from the wizarding community. But a familiar face in a cafe window capsizes his world into chaos. Dramione. EWE. Memory fic.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 127
Kudos: 393





	1. The Double-Take

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: Hello! This my new fic and I'm really excited! Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and comments for Isolation, and I hope you enjoy this one too! Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing! Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Literally nothing.
> 
> Song recommendation: Black Lab - This Night.

~.~

**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

~.~

_Yesterday's just a memory, tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be_ ~

Bob Dylan

~.~

Chapter 1: The Double-Take

.

Draco's eyes fluttered open, squinting against the rays of sun slipping past his curtains into his room. Groaning to himself, he checked the clock and frowned when he saw that it was almost eleven. So much for his seven-time promise that he would sort out his sleeping pattern.

He stretched his arms above his head and sluggishly left his bed, pulling on yesterday's t-shirt as he headed to the window and drew back the curtains. The garish light struck him blind for a moment, but then he was looking out at the vast carpet of sea, broken up by the nearby isles of Tresco and St. Martin's.

It was calm today; calmer than it had been for several weeks. So calm that he could barely hear the familiar sound of waves beating the shore by his house.

Smothering a yawn and stretching out the ache in his spine, he paid the landscape no attention; he simply checked the sky for clouds. It was clear. Completely clear. The sky was so blue he couldn't see where it blended with the sea.

_Shit._

He'd told himself he would venture into town today if the weather was decent, and now he was regretting that notion. But he needed to. The milk in the fridge was practically cheese, and he'd been trimming mould off his bread for the past couple of days.

Twisting his head until his neck clicked, he dressed himself in a loose pair of shorts and decided to change into a fresh t-shirt at the last minute. As he left his bedroom and descended the stairs, the sounds of his footsteps echoed in the emptiness of his home.

Sometimes the constant stillness and absence of noise irked him. Sometimes it even woke him in the night. The rest of the time it was his only comfort; his best friend.

An owl was waiting at the kitchen window when he went downstairs, tapping impatiently against the glass until Draco opened the window, and the bird practically spat the mail into his hand.

He shuffled through the usual junk: two bills and the standard monthly owl from the Ministry reminding him to contact Shacklebolt and confirm that he was still in the country. Rolling his eyes, he toyed with it with agitated fingers, crinkling the edges of the envelope as he tried to decide if he should walk or Apparate into town.

That was the handy thing about living on the Isle of St. Mary's: everything was somewhat close. The island itself was only two-and-a-half miles across, but Draco lived on the other side of the island from its largest town, Hugh Town. Despite the Island's small area, his five-bedroom cottage was substantially secluded, tucked away in the North-East corner without a neighbour within a half-mile radius. That was the main reason he'd chosen the house. As for why he'd chosen to live on St. Mary's in the Isles of Scilly, it was the furthest he could get away from London without leaving the UK and without having to freeze to death in Scotland.

Additionally, with a population of less than 1,700 (and only another 500 on the neighbouring islands), the Isles of Scilly were quiet, especially as most of the people living here were retirees. Also, and he'd never thought he'd say this, but the fact that only Muggles lived in the archipelago was a huge benefit. In the six years that he'd lived here, he hadn't once encountered another magical being. According to some records he'd acquired back when he'd been looking to move house, he'd read that no wizard or witch had lived on the Isles of Scilly since 1904, and that fact had really been the deciding factor in his decision to move to St. Mary's.

There was no Floo Network, no secret magical establishments, nothing. And that was exactly what he wanted. With the exception of a meeting at his company every couple of months or so, he avoided anything and everything to do with the Wizarding World.

He didn't feel any particular attachment to the place he had lived for six years; it was purely a matter of convenience. Nobody here knew him. Not one person on the island knew about the things he had done, and he had learned in that first year after the war that anonymity was preferable to infamy. It was so much easier to be invisible.

So that was what he had done for the past six years, and it was what he intended to do until he had served his sentence.

He kept himself to himself and barely left his home, simply counting down the days of his twelve-year punishment until he could finally leave England and head to Paris, where his mother had bought several properties not long after Lucius had been sent to Azkaban back in his Sixth Year.

Only five more years of solitude to go.

Excellent.

The only downfall to his isolated home was the tourists; during the summer months, they invaded the islands like a plague of flies. They were the main reason for his reluctance to venture into town, but it was a chore that he had ignored for long enough.

Heading to the back room to check on Aetos, he petted his faithful eagle owl absently and pulled out one of the standard Ministry check-in cards, tapped his wand against it, and attached it to Aetos' leg.

"There you go, boy," he mumbled. "Just the usual. Go to the Ministry and let them know I haven't tried to escape."

The bird took off East, towards London and the Ministry. The check-in card was merely a formality with a code that was signature to Draco and his wand, but there was a tracing spell on Aetos to ensure that the card had indeed been sent from within the UK. Occasionally, they would send an Auror to do an unannounced check, perhaps every three months or so, and they would search his house, check for any indications of Dark Magic, and then ask some standard questions, like if he'd been in contact with any ex-Death Eaters, if he'd heard from any of the Death Eaters still wanted by the Ministry, et cetera, et cetera.

Several times, Draco had considered how easy it would be to just jump the sea and stay in France for a few days, but it wasn't worth the risk. If he got caught outside the UK, he went straight to Azkaban for three years, and then he would be confined to the UK again for another twelve years. It was easier to just keep his head down and get on with it. So that's what he did.

Finishing his tea and deciding that he didn't feel like a two-mile walk today, he gathered his wallet and his wand and then Apparated to a small wooded area just outside of Hugh Town, knowing from experience which area would be safe and free of Muggles. From there, it was a two minute walk into the town, and he could feel the sun breathing against his neck as he strolled the familiar footpaths and shortcuts, wrinkling his nose as the stench of stale lager and cigarettes scratched at his nose.

It was almost the end of August, which meant the majority of the infuriating tourists had disappeared, but the lingering aftertaste of hen nights and regurgitated cider hung in the air like a thick, choking smog, and it would do for a few more weeks. The closer he got to Hugh Town, the stronger the stench became, and he decided to cut through a park, if only because he knew the scent of honeysuckle might save his sense of smell for a few minutes.

Despite the end of the tourist season, when he got to the park, there were still plenty of people taking advantage of the warm weather. It was mainly families with picnics, a few young couples scattered about, apparently oblivious to the crowd around them as they indulged in eating each other's faces, and Draco made a point to scowl at a few of them.

He continued on his way into town, walking along Hugh Street and intentionally avoiding eye contact with the pedestrians, locals and tourists alike. Swerving this way and that to evade sticky children with dripping ice creams and naive couples who were apparently permanently joined at their hands, he headed for the local supermarket. Before he entered, he braced himself for the inevitable nightmare that he was about to face once he stepped over the threshold.

He ducked inside quickly, keeping his head low as he grabbed two baskets, but unfortunately the shop was quiet, and that irritating bell above the door announced his arrival.

"Oh! Mr Malfoy!"

Draco grimaced. "Mrs Fletcher."

"We haven't seen you for weeks," she said from behind the counter. "My David and I were getting concerned. We were debating whether or not to go to your house and see if you were still alive."

"Well, as you can see, I am perfectly fine, Mrs Fletcher."

Mr and Mrs Fletcher, or David and Florence as they often insisted they be called, owned this little supermarket and also a gift shop on the other side of town. Both in their early sixties, they had lived on St. Mary's for over twenty years, having moved here once their children had left home. Their two children were called Christopher and Meggie, and both now lived not too far from London; Christopher was a solicitor and Meggie was a primary school teacher. The Fletchers had a golden retriever called Shandy, a budgie called Timothy, and two Guinea pigs named Salt and Pepper. Mrs Fletcher enjoyed pottery, crocheting, and had recently started yoga, while Mr Fletcher was more partial to fishing, sailing, and stamp collecting.

Draco knew all of this useless information because both Mrs Fletcher and her husband found it necessary to engage him in conversation every time he entered their supermarket. Why? He had no idea. He had made it blatant to both of them that he had little interest in their lives, or indeed the lives of anyone on the island. Nevertheless, the couple insisted on sharing anecdotes with him whenever he set foot in their supermarket, so much so that Draco suspected he could write both of their biographies in detail.

Even now, as he hid himself among the aisles, selecting the items he needed, Mrs Fletcher continued to talk to him, raising her voice so that it carried all the way to the back of her shop, like a bloody banshee.

"We were really getting worried!" she went on. "I know you don't come into town often, but I haven't seen you in...oh, about eight weeks? Since the tourists started coming, really. Speaking about the tourists, it's been a fantastic year! You know Charlie who owns the fish and chip shop by the bay? Well, he reckons that he made double what he did last year, and when you think about the strange weather..."

Draco sighed and shut out her ramblings as best as he could. He was used to this routine now; he'd been doing it for the last six years. As Mrs Fletcher wittered on and on about...whatever, he carried on shopping, selecting the same items he did every trip. Just necessities. Nothing interesting, nothing new. Bread, milk, pasta, soup, cheddar, meat, whiskey, etc. He always purchased enough to last at least a month so he could keep his trips to town to a minimum. Despite his past, even Draco Malfoy could acknowledge that whichever Muggle had invented the freezer had been a genius.

"...And I told my David that we should consider expanding, you know. Maybe open up another gift shop. I know we're not getting any younger, but I really enjoy running our businesses. It's so lovely getting to meet so many people, and I think we could..."

The bloody woman could blether for Britain. It really was ridiculous. A headache had already begun to fester at the back of his brain.

Placing down his two full baskets near the counter, he returned to the front of the store and collected another two.

"I'm assuming you'd like this all to be delivered this evening, as usual?" asked Mrs Fletcher.

"As usual," replied Draco.

"Well, we won't be able to deliver this evening, I'm afraid. David and I promised George and Robert we would head to Tresco tonight. You know, they're raising money for-"

"Right," he interrupted. "I'll take one bag home and you can deliver the rest tomorrow, then. If you could separate the milk and bread."

"Not a problem! You know, I was chatting to Ellie Tanner earlier, and she was saying that the hotel has been busy for the entire tourist season! She was saying she wouldn't mind expanding, too. She was thinking about opening a pub or..."

Fucking hell.

Draco rushed to finish, chucking in his final bits and pieces with little consideration. He was so desperate to remove himself from the situation before his headache turned into full-blown migraine.

Satisfied that he could survive on what he had a selected for a month, he reluctantly headed for the counter, knowing that this would bring on the worst.

"All done, Mr. Malfoy?" she smiled.

"That's why I'm at the till," he frowned.

Now came the painstaking wait as she totalled up his shopping, pausing between items to, of course, talk. He had heard of these Muggle machines called self-service checkouts, and he couldn't wait until they finally made their way to St. Mary's. Placing his four full baskets on the counter, he tapped his foot impatiently as she slowly pulled out items and hit the buttons on the till.

"You know, I'm not sure I'd like another gift shop, though," she continued, oblivious to Draco's rolling eyes. "I was thinking it would be nice to try something different. Perhaps a cafe or something, like Tess. Her Kavorna Cafe is doing very well."

"Brilliant," he muttered.

"Oh! Speaking of the Kavorna, my David was in here about five minutes before you came in and he saw our new neighbour! Or neighbours...you know, I'm not sure, I'll have to find out. You know the cottage near...Oh wait, you probably don't know, do you? Since you've been hiding away for two months."

Draco stared at her jadedly. "Please, enlighten me."

He had long discovered that many of the people on this island were oblivious to sarcasm, so he really should have known better than to say that.

"Well, you know that lovely old cottage near Watermill Cove? The blue one? Someone finally bought it about a couple of months ago, and we've been waiting to see who it was. They arrived today. A man and a woman, both lovely apparently."

"How exciting," he said, his tone flat. "If you don't mind, Mrs Fletcher, I do have some other errands-"

"I don't think they're a couple, though," she went on. "My David said he only spoke to them briefly, but he was of the opinion that they were friends or brother and sister, perhaps. He said he's heard that only the girl is moving into the house, too. I guess it would make sense for her to bring a friend to help with boxes and everything. Apparently she's a lovely girl, very sweet, about your age-"

"Mrs Fletcher, I really don't-"

"What was her name again?" she murmured to herself. "Somebody did tell me...Grayson? No, that's not right. Was it Griffiths? No, no..."

"Mrs Fletcher-"

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed happily. "That was it! Granger."

Draco looked up from his shoes, his brow furrowed with interest.

Granger.

There was a name he had neither heard nor uttered in seven years. A curious knot of nerves tightened around his stomach, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. Granger was a common enough surname that he shouldn't have thought anything of it, and yet that knot of nerves just wouldn't quite leave him be.

"...just the nicest girl, apparently. I think I'm going to invite her round for tea once she's settled, maybe visit with a welcoming gift or something-"

"What's her first name?" asked Draco. "Do you know it?"

"Her first name? Oh, gosh, my David did say, but you know I'm so terrible with names-"

"Was it an unusual name?" He hesitated, uncertain if should say the next part. "Like Hermione?"

The name felt so foreign and lost on his tongue, like a bitter aftertaste of something he hadn't eaten in years. He knew he would chastise himself later for reacting in such a way to a seemingly insignificant coincidence, but it had been an instinctive response.

"Hermione?" echoed Mrs Fletcher, confused. "Can't say I've ever heard a name like that before. No, no, it was quite a normal name. Jane or something like that."

"You're certain?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she assured him. "I would remember a name like...what did you say before?"

He licked his teeth before he repeated, "Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Yes, I would remember an odd name like that, I'm sure. Anyway, I heard she's just a sweetheart. She's already won over my David, and I think-"

"How much is my total, Mrs Fletcher?"

"Oh...uh, eighty-seven pounds and twelve pence, please," she replied, still smiling. "That's including the usual bulk stuff you ask me to put by for you. You know, you really should consider-"

"Eighty-eight pounds," he said curtly, slamming the money down on the counter. The knot of nerves had dissipated and he was ready to leave. "Keep the change."

"Oh, thank you! I'll donate it to George and Robert's fundraiser-

"Yes, fine. I'll see you tomorrow evening with the rest of my things."

Snatching the bag he needed, he hastily exited the shop before Mrs Fletcher could even open her mouth again. Once outside, he again meandered his way through the crowd, eyes downcast and narrowed. Slipping out of sight down an alley, he checked his surroundings carefully before he Apparated home.

.

* * *

.

Back at his house, Draco did what he did every other day; he made himself some food and completed some necessary documents.

When his father had died, all the businesses that had remained in the Malfoy family for years had been passed on to him; but within three weeks he had relinquished almost all responsibility and left them to Lucius' old partner, Harold Kendrick. Despite this, Draco was still required by a Malfoy-drawn contract to approve certain deals and strategies.

After he had completed all his work and sent the papers away with Aetos, he would retire outside for a few hours with a book, and then he would go for a run. He wouldn't venture far; just a few miles along the isolated coastal path to Watermill Cove and then back to his house. He enjoyed running. He liked how everything was a haze of thudding; his heart, his feet, his head, all pounding like an army. Quidditch was hardly an option here, but he had realised early on that he needed some sort of physical exercise to distract himself from the empty evenings.

Sometimes he suspected that had he not taken up running, he would have either launched himself off the nearest cliff, or ended up in Azkaban by now.

He set off when the sun started to sink back into the sea, bathing the sky and water in explosive shades of orange, and it reminded him of war. Midges invaded the air just as the temperature dipped, and across the sea in the distance, he could see the lights of all the little houses in Tresco flicking on as families settled in for the evening.

It wasn't until he arrived at Watermill Cove just as the evening turned to dusk that he recalled the bizarre conversation he'd had with Mrs Fletcher. Sweat shimmered on his brow and his chest heaved with the exertion of his run, yet all he was aware of at that moment was how anxious he had been earlier, when Mrs Fletcher had said Granger's name. His eyes wandered over to the blue cottage on the other side of the cove, noticing that one of the downstairs windows was illuminated. A silhouette moved across the drawn curtains, but from where he was standing he couldn't even tell if the person inside was male or female.

Shaking his head and scowling, he reminded himself yet again that Granger was a common surname and that Mrs Fletcher had seemed certain that the newcomer's first name wasn't Hermione. So what was the problem?

There isn't a problem.

And there really wasn't. He could almost laugh at himself for being so idiotically paranoid. Nothing changed here on St. Mary's, and that was exactly why he loved and loathed it.

He nodded his head firmly to himself and wiped the sweat away from his temple.

Without a backward glance at the silhouette, he turned on his heel and jogged back home, calm and convinced that his irrational reaction had all been for nothing. He went to bed that night with not a single thought of Mrs Fletcher, Granger, or the little blue cottage.


	2. The Appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing! Song rec for this chapter: You Me at Six - When I was Younger.

**~.~**

**Dark Water And Dying Eyebrights**

**~.~**

Chapter 2: The Appearances

.

Just as he had yesterday (and the countless days before), Draco roused shortly after morning had ended, in the early hours of the afternoon. The sun was powerful again today and it sliced through a gap in his curtains, the light shooting him right between the eyes. With the same lacklustre movements as yesterday (and countless days before), he left his bed with the expectation that today would be like every other.

It wasn't until Draco had sent away his check-in card to the Ministry and brewed his first cup of tea that he realised he had left his wallet in the supermarket. His sigh of frustration disturbed the tea's rising steam and echoed around the emptiness of his home.

He really didn't know if he could take another interaction with Mrs Fletcher; the very thought of it made his jaw clench. He was tempted to leave it and just mention it when Mr Fletcher delivered his shopping later, but Mrs Fletcher was one of the most air-headed people he had ever met, and his wallet was probably already lost down some drain. Less than a year ago she had misplaced his keys within one hour when he asked her to keep them with his shopping while he'd visited another shop in town.

It was times like this he considered buying a muggle telephone; with one call he could let the Fletchers know about his misplaced wallet. But he didn't have a telephone and would probably never get one. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that it was a muggle device, he just didn't like the idea of people being able to contact him as they pleased.

After a few minutes of unsuccessfully trying to think of an alternative, Draco realised he would have to venture into town again, and another sigh pushed past his lips.

Tossing the remainder of his still-warm tea in the sink, he rushed upstairs to change his clothes. Grabbing his wand, he Apparated to the same spot as yesterday and made his way through the park towards Hugh Town.

The park was again littered with unwanted idiots; all the couples and tourists had apparently not moved since yesterday. The sun felt heavier on his pale skin today and he muttered a quick spell to shield himself from its glare.

As he walked along the path paying little attention to his surroundings, a flash of brown hair streaked across his peripheral vision, and he halted his tracks as a bizarre sense of recognition hit him. His eyes shot over, barely catching the side of a girl's face and her brown curls before she disappeared behind a cluster of trees. He stood completely still, watching as her red skirt followed her out of sight, and he couldn't breathe for a moment because the disbelief was overpowering.

_No, it couldn't possibly be_.

And it really couldn't. He had already been through all this last night.

No, it definitely hadn't been her. He was just spooked and it was all Mrs Fletcher's fault. Had that bloody woman not insisted on making conversation with him yesterday, he would not be acting so ridiculously. That stupid cow had him jumping around like a jittery deer during a simple walk in the park for crying out loud.

Realistically, how many girls had long, brown, curly hair? Looking around the park, lots of them. And he hadn't even seen the girl's face properly. Evidently this was just proof that he needed to sort out his sleeping schedule, get out of the house more often, and, most importantly, stop paying attention to anything Mrs Fletcher said.

He waited for a moment to see if the girl would emerge from the trees, but there was no sign of the brown hair or red skirt. Shaking his head, he carried on walking, trying to shrug away the shock and assure himself that the possibility of her being here was next to none. Still, he felt edgy as he made his way out of the park, like eyes were on his back where the sun had once been. Quickening his steps, he practically jogged out of the park, keeping his eyes low to avoid anymore unnecessary frights.

He practically hurled himself into the supermarket and that pesky bell above the door was ringing in his ears again. "Oh! Hello, Draco. Are you alright over there?"

It wasn't Mrs Fletcher's voice this time. Draco cleared his throat and approached Mr Fletcher, relieved that it was him and not his wife. Not that Mr Fletcher wasn't annoying, he was just slightly more tolerable than his wife. He was the kind of man who was ideal for dressing up as Santa Claus at Christmas time; he had a plump belly, kind eyes, and a rambunctious laugh that caused his entire body to shake.

"Mr Fletcher-"

"Draco," he interrupted, grinning. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me David?" Draco scowled. "You don't _have_ to tell me, you just do."

Mr Fletcher's laugh boomed around the shop like a siren. "You are a funny man, Draco! You do make me chuckle!" "Believe me, it's not intentional," he grumbled. "Look, I left my wallet here yesterday-"

"You certainly did, young man! Florence did think about dropping it off at your house last night, but we know how much you like your privacy."

"So where is my wallet?"

"It's with Florence in the gift shop," said David, oblivious to Draco's rolling eyes. "After that whole kerfuffle with your keys, and you know how awful she felt about that, she decided she would make sure your wallet didn't leave her sight."

"Brilliant," huffed Draco.

"Honestly, she's been so nervous about losing your wallet, I practically had to talk her out of super-gluing it to her hand!" chuckled David.

"Right, I guess I'll have to go to the gift shop. Because we all know I enjoy spending as much time in town as possible."

"Hey, it's a beautiful day! You should go for a walk along the beach."

"I'd rather walk on a path of broken glass," he muttered, turning to leave. "I'll deliver your shopping this evening around seven o'clock, Draco." "Fine."

The walk to the Fletchers' gift shop was barely five minutes away, but it felt like five miles of hell as Draco was forced to deal with the public. He marched past the Kavorna Cafe, the Atlantic Hotel, the Bishop and Wolf pub, and all the other establishments that he rarely set foot in. Bumping shoulders with at least seven people, his already foul mood was getting worse with every second, and it was about to get so much worse.

"Hey, Draco!"

Draco growled and hissed _shit_ under his breath.

Timothy Miller was jogging towards him with the usual welcoming smile, his wet flip-flops smacking against his bare feet and making one of the most irritating sounds Draco had ever heard. Miller (or as he insisted he be called, Tim) was one of about twenty people on the island of a similar age to Draco, which according to Miller automatically made them friends.

Not bloody likely.

He worked for the lifeboat station on the island and also as a beach lifeguard. Born and raised on St Mary's, he was popular with the locals and tourists, particularly the hen parties. Draco suspected it was because he was usually shirtless. The shiny teeth, floppy hair, and constantly exposed abs were practically a magnet for the female tourists, and it didn't help that Miller was one of those eager-to-please types with too much time on his hands and not enough weight in his head.

To put it bluntly, Draco thought Miller was a bit of a prat. And he was a prat that seemed to think it was appropriate to initiate conversations with Draco whenever they crossed paths.

"Miller," greeted Draco reluctantly. "What do you want? I have things to do." "Hello to you, too," said Tim, smiling like a fool. "I wanted to ask you something." "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!" "I know the answer's going to be no."

"Come on, mate," reasoned Tim. "Just hear me out for a minute."

That was another thing that irritated Draco; Miller was one of those tossers who thought it was fine to call everyone 'mate' even if they absolutely were not your mate.

"Hurry up, Miller. I'm busy."

"Well, I know you like to keep yourself healthy and you like running-" "Miller, you're turning creepy. Get on with it."

Tim laughed and brushed his floppy hair out of his eyes. "Draco, you are funny, mate!"

If one more person told him he was funny today, he was going to punch them. "Come on, Miller, I have things to do." "Sorry," grinned Tim. "Look, we're trying to set up a sponsored run for charity and I was wondering-"

"No, not interested."

"Really? Oh, come on, Draco, it will be fun!" "No, it won't," he replied. "I'm really busy."

"Okay," frowned Tim, though he somehow managed to still look friendly. "Well, I understand that, but perhaps if you-" "I really am very busy right now, Miller."

With that, Draco turned and walked away, ignoring Miller's cheerful "Okay, Draco, see you soon!"

.

* * *

.

The Fletchers' gift shop, which was innovatively called 'Fletchers' Gifts,' also had one of those infuriating bells that announced every customer's arrival with a shrill, punctuating _ding_. It was that high-pitched ring that firmly fixed a pounding headache at the back of Draco's eyes.

He'd only been in the gift shop once before; it was a small, quaint establishment with the usual key rings, coasters, and other crappy souvenirs that tourists bought for their poor relatives. The till was right at the back, and there he could see Mrs Fletcher chatting merrily away with Tess Hobson, the owner of the Kavorna Cafe. The women paused their discussion as he made his way towards them, and he braced himself for the usual questions and chaos.

"Mr Malfoy!" exclaimed Mrs Fletcher. "Did my David send you here for your wallet?"

"He did," said Draco. "Where is it?"

"You know, I was so scared of losing it after I lost your keys! I haven't let it out of my sight! I was just telling Tess about it now, wasn't I, Tess?"

Tess nodded her head eagerly. "Oh yes. You know, Draco, she hasn't let it out of her sight."

Draco glared at the two women impatiently. Tess was the same age as Mrs Fletcher and the pair frequently met together to witter about anything and everything. It was commonplace for Draco to visit the supermarket for his shopping and be ambushed by the two old, overly inquisitive women.

"By the way, her name is Jean!" said Mrs Fletcher. Draco's brow furrowed. "Who the hell is Jean?"

"Jean Granger! Our new neighbour! Remember? I told you yesterday. You asked me if her name was...oh, it began with an H...anyway, her name is Jean! I met her this morning. Oh, she's absolutely darling, Draco."

"She really is," Tess pitched in. "Completely adorable. She was in my cafe when I left. She's probably still there now." "Fascinating," drawled Draco. "Can I have my wallet now?"

"Oh, yes!" said Mrs Fletcher, removing it from a drawer. "There you go!"

He practically snatched it out of her hand. "Right. Goodbye, ladies. You may continue solving all the world's issues with your natter."

"Draco, you really should stop by the cafe and meet Jean," said Tess.

"You really should," agreed Mrs Fletcher. "Even you would probably like her!" "Highly unlikely," Draco replied over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

.

* * *

.

Relieved that he had accomplished his task and that his wallet was safely back in his pocket, Draco wasted no time in heading home. There weren't enough quiet spots around to safely Apparate, so he headed back the way he had come, intending to use the same alley he had yesterday.

Seagulls squawked overhead and the sounds of laughter drifted up from the beach as the sun continued to bear down on him like torture. He kept his eyes peeled for any other potential nuisances, especially Tim Miller who would likely attempt another round of dull discussion if he had the opportunity.

His earlier spook in the park was long forgotten as he walked by the familiar shops and services for the second time today. As the Kavorna Cafe came into sight, he watched a sunburnt middle-aged couple go inside. As he walked by, he peered through the cafe's large bow windows, and it was then he stopped walking.

There, as plain as day, was a face he had not seen for years.

And yet her name had been mentioned at least twice since yesterday. He had mentioned it himself. The very thought of her had plagued him on no less than two occasions in the past twenty-four hours.

But he had done such a good job of convincing himself that he would never see her on his island that even now, staring at her with wide eyes, he didn't believe it was her.

Because it couldn't be her. But it was. It definitely was.

It was Hermione Granger.

She was right there, perched on a high stool and leaning her elbow against the table as she smiled wistfully down at

her copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ , her forefinger absently tracing the rim of her half-empty glass. Clad in a simple white blouse and a red skirt, and with her long brown curls falling over one shoulder, she looked so...normal. So normal that it made her appearance all the more bizarre to Draco.

She turned the page of her book and that movement jarred Draco back into the moment.

His awe and shock was quickly replaced with white-hot anger that prickled across his skin, burning more harshly than the sun. With an intensity and swiftness that can only really be achieved by rage, he stormed inside the cafe, almost knocking over the sunburnt couple as they tried to leave. His vision tunnelled, focusing on her and her alone.

Charging towards her, he slammed down his hand on her table, causing her to jump and almost drop her book. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Two big brown eyes darted to him and they were round and scared, like a cornered deer. Warily, she closed her book and sat up straight, never once averting her startled gaze from his face.

"Excuse me?" she asked carefully.

"I said, what the hell are you doing here?" he repeated slower but more severely. "Um...I'm just having a drink and reading..."

"Stop dicking around with me, Granger."

Her eyes widened. "You...you know my name?"

Her response staggered Draco for a moment. He stared more closely at her eyes, still finding fear and caution, but at the core of her gaze was blind confusion. There was no recognition there. Not even a little bit.

He took a step back. "Granger, what the fuck is going on?"

"Oh my God, you know me," she muttered to herself. "I'm sorry, I...I had a..." She hesitated and looked over his shoulder. "Harry will help explain."

"Oh bollocks," scoffed Draco. "Of course sodding Potter is here as well."

"You...you know Harry, too?" she asked, still looking past him. "Harry! Harry, can you come here please? Harry!"

Turning around to see where Granger was looking, Draco's attention was drawn to the cafe's counter. Even after seven years, he recognised the back of Potter's head immediately; he had spent so much time back in Hogwarts glaring at it. With tense shoulders and an expression that could silence thunder, Draco waited as Potter slowly turned around with two plates of scones in his hands. The look that instantly took over Potter's face was a combination of alarm and disbelief.

The scones and plates fell to the floor.

The smash drew the attention of all the customers in the cafe, but neither Harry nor Draco appeared to notice the twenty pairs of eye now focusing on them. There was a tight moment of nothing, and then it all kicked off.

With his broken scones disregarded, Harry approached Draco with purposeful, heavy strides. Without a word, he reached for Draco's arm, desperately trying to grab it. Standing his ground, Draco shook him off. The crowd in the cafe was now completely silent as the two men clumsily grappled with each other.

"Don't bloody touch me, Potter!" "Shut up, Malfoy! Outside!"

"Harry, what on Earth are you doing?" asked Granger, jumping up out of her seat. "And how does he know us?" "Sit back down, Jean," said Harry.

The fact that Potter had called her 'Jean' stunned Draco motionless for a second, and that mistake allowed Potter to get a decent grip on his arm. He tried to wriggle himself free, but Potter had latched onto him like a leech.

"Why the hell did you-"

"Jean, stay in here!" Harry interrupted, slowly dragging Draco out of the cafe. "You stay in here and I will be right back!"

Granger released an exasperated sigh. "Harry, what the hell is going on?" "Just trust me! I will be right back."

Wrestling the entire time and ignoring the shocked gasps of the other customers, the two staggered out of the cafe into the street in a jumble of limbs and profanities. Even when they were outside, Potter continued to yank Draco's arm and through the window Draco could see Granger watching them, wringing her hands nervously. She disappeared as Potter pulled him out of sight down a small side street beside the Kavorna. They collided with a few bins and Potter stumbled, allowing Draco to tear himself free.

"You'd better have a good fucking reason for laying your hands on me like that, Potter! Because I swear-" "What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" demanded Potter. "What _the hell_ are you doing _here_?"

"What the hell am _I_ doing here?" repeated Draco, seething. "I live here, you stupid prick! What the fuck are you and bloody Granger doing here?"

Harry took a deep, long breath. "You can't live here. I checked the records!"

"I've lived here for six years, Potter! Ask the bloody owner of the cafe. Now, back to my question; what the hell are you and Granger doing-"

"Did you call her Hermione?" Draco faltered. "What?"

"Did you call Hermione by her first name?"

"When have I ever called Granger by her first name?"

Harry fidgeted anxiously, unable to stay still for more than a second. "You're certain? You're certain you didn't call her-"

"I'm bloody positive, I called her Granger," said Draco, studying the other man curiously. "Potter, what are you-"

"I checked to make sure no magical folk lived here!" he blurted. "I checked and it said no wizards or witches had lived here for years!"

"Yeah, well I've paid a lot of money to ensure that people don't know where I am, so how the hell did you and Granger find me? Did the Ministry tell you to come watch me?"

Harry's brow creased with confusion. "You think we're here to see you?" "Aren't you?"

"No, of course not! Why would I be so shocked to see you if I knew you'd be here?"

Draco considered his reasoning. "Well, I'll ask again: What the hell are you doing here, Potter? Why were you calling Granger 'Jean'? And why the hell doesn't she know who I am?"

Harry dropped his head in his hands. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh God, this changes things. If I'd known, I wouldn't have...I can't take her somewhere else now...I can't..."

"Potter, what are you rambling about?"

"Look, Malfoy, you don't understand. Hermione's not...It's a very long story."

"Well, you're going to make some time to tell me that story because I want to know what the pair of you are doing here."

"You are in no position to tell me what to do, Malfoy."

"Oh really?" challenged Draco, pivoting on his heel. "Well I'll just stroll back inside and ask _Hermione_ what is going on instead-"

"No, stop!" yelled Harry, shoving Draco backwards. "You can't do that to her, she's been through enough already and I will not let you ruin this! We've worked too hard!"

"Potter, if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, I swear I will march back in there and start a shit storm! This is your last chance!"

Panting slightly and clearly exasperated, Harry bowed his head in defeat. "Alright fine, Malfoy. Fine. I'll explain what's going on."

"Good."

"But I can't do it here and now. I just can't. It'll take too long and Jean...I mean, Hermione is sitting in there right now terrified because of you."

"You said you would tell me-"

"And I will," assured Harry. "Look, where are you living? I'll visit this evening and explain everything." Draco scoffed coldly. "You think I'd let you in my house?"

"Oh come on, Malfoy, don't be so bloody childish."

"Well, what guarantee do I have that you're not just going to call up the Aurors and have me shipped off to the new prison up in the Shetlands?"

Harry looked to the ground. "The Aurors can't know I'm here."

Draco arched an eyebrow with interest. "Well, well, Potter. This is all very controversial, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. So if you want me to tell you what's going on, that's how it's going to have to be. It's not something I can tell you in public and I don't have the time to tell you now. It's that, or nothing, Malfoy."

Clenching his jaw, Draco rolled his eyes and spat out, "Just past Watermill Cove; the sign looks like it says the Lost Cottage, but it's actually called the Last Cottage."

"The Last Cottage," Harry echoed. "Okay. I will come by this evening." "Make sure you do. And I want to know _everything_ , Potter."

"You will."

Without a parting word, Draco turned his back on Harry and stalked out of the side alley, his head shambolic with confusion. Back on the main street, the world seemed louder and more intrusive now, like everyone was talking about whatever it was he didn't know. They eyes of the passers-by seemed to linger on him for a moment longer than necessary, and their mouths were curved in knowing, mocking smiles.

He didn't have a choice but to walk past the large window of the Kavorna cafe, the window that had caused all this hassle to begin with. Had he been focussed, he might have crossed the street, but she would have probably seen him anyway. She had, after all, been staring out of the window for the past fifteen minutes, nervously drumming her nails on the table and waiting.

Draco tried so hard to resist lifting his eyes, but it was a futile.

Gone was all the fear and apprehension from a few moments ago; now her eyes were practically sparkling with uninhibited intrigue. Her stare was unblinking and firm, fixed on him like a hunter's eye, and he couldn't turn away either. There was a softness in her expression, though; that innocent and somewhat childlike inquisitiveness that he remembered from Hogwarts.

He was almost beyond the stretch of the window and out of her sight when she slowly lifted her hand, curling her fingers in a delicate, uncertain wave. He didn't hear it, but he saw her mouth the word "Bye," her breath staining the glass with a subtle mist.

And then she was gone.

The window was replaced by a wall, and she was replaced by nothing. He ran the rest of the way home, not trusting himself to Apparate.


	3. The Ramifications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Bear's Den - When You Break

~.~

**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

~.~

Chapter 3: The Ramifications

.

By the time the sun had tucked itself beyond the horizon and the moon was high and bright, Draco had almost worn away all the carpet in his house.

After his confrontation with Potter and Granger, he'd been unable to keep still. At one point he had contemplated going for a long run all the way around the island's coast, but the prospect of encountering his old school rivals again confined him to his home.

With nothing but the hours dragging by and his frustrations building with each slow minute, he had paced from room to room, channelling all his pent up energy on measly tasks and glaring at the wall. Never could he recall glancing at his clock as much as he had done in the last few hours.

The events of today were still raw in Draco's mind, scratching at his conscious like claws. The incident had replayed itself in his head repetitively since he had arrived home, and he had obsessively analysed and reanalysed every word that Potter and Granger had said, trying to garner any clues about their sudden appearances on his island.

His brain was swollen and aching with questions, and as time went on more questions came.

So, when he heard a knock at his door just after half seven, Draco leapt out of his seat and changed for the door, ready to tear Potter apart for inflicting these torturous thoughts on him. He grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open with such force that the whole house seemed to quiver with the bang.

"Where the fucking hell have you been?!" bellowed Draco, but his anger quickly faded to confusion.

Mr Fletcher stood on Draco's doorstep with two bags of shopping in his hands and a slightly terrified look on his face. "I...I'm sorry, Draco, I know I'm a little late, but I..."

"Calm down, Mr Fletcher," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "I thought you were somebody else."

"Oh. Oh, well you know, that's not a very polite way to answer the door, young man."

"It wasn't meant to be polite." He snatched the two bags out of the old man's hands.

"I've got two more bags in the car for you," said Mr Fletcher, tottering back to his car. The engine hummed and the lights illuminated the narrow road to Draco's home. "Are you expecting someone then?"

"I don't really see how that's any of your business, Mr Fletcher."

"Oh, I'm just being curious! I don't think I ever expected you to have a visitor! I know you're very private-"

"Is that the last of the bags?" interrupted Draco.

"Oh. Yes, sir," he nodded, smiling as always. "You know, I was chatting to Ben Gilbert earlier and he mentioned that there was some sort of incident involving you and the two newcomers in the cafe."

Draco rolled his eyes again and reached for the final pair of bags. "Did he now?"

"Yes. Ben wasn't the only one who mentioned it; actually, a few people in town were talking about it. You had some sort of…disagreement?"

"Well, it really must have made everyone's day to have so much drama."

Mr Fletcher grinned. "Well, you can't blame people for being a little bit curious. People are saying it was quite interesting-"

"Any little thing that happens on this island is quite interesting. If the mayor's cat takes a shit, it's top news. Are you here for an exclusive interview, or can I return to my business?"

"My apologies, Draco, I didn't mean to pry or anything, I was just..."

He trailed off to the sound of footsteps shifting the gravel of the road, and in the glare of the headlights walked Harry Potter, his shadow stretching out behind him. Unable to stop himself, Draco groaned at the inconvenient timing.

"Harry?" called Mr Fletcher. "Is that you?"

"Good evening, David."

Draco wasn't sure why but he didn't like that the two were on first-name terms already. "Right, Mr Fletcher, if there's nothing else-"

"Do you two know each other?" asked Mr Fletcher.

"Uh," stuttered Harry, nervously adjusting his glasses. "We used to."

"Well! Isn't it a small world?"

Draco's glare didn't leave Potter until he was on his doorstep. "Yes. Too small."

Without a word, he stepped to the side, allowing enough room for Potter to enter his home, which he did with a parting nod in Mr Fletcher's direction. With that, Draco turned back to the beguiled pensioner still standing there, as if waiting for an explanation.

"Right, Mr Fletcher," said Draco crisply. "I'm sure you're eager to toddle off home and divulge your information to your wife so she can broadcast it to the town. I will see you in a few weeks. Goodnight."

With that, he shut the door and stole a moment to groan before he carefully walked to his living room. Potter was standing beside the fireplace, his bespectacled eyes scanning the room like a prospective buyer, although Draco detected the nervous clenching of his old rival's fists and the thin film of sweat on his forehead.

"Your home is nice," said Harry.

"Shut up, Potter, you're not here for decorating tips."

"No, I mean it. It's more...Muggle than I expected, but then I guess you would have to make certain changes living in a Muggle area."

Draco glanced around the room. The decision to keep its appearance Muggle hadn't really been a conscious one; he had just never cared too much to make any changes after he'd moved in. There had been no point in setting up Muggle-repelling charms; the locals would have easily noticed if his house was suddenly transformed into something else. It was far less conspicuous for him to live without wards just in case any magical folk did turn up on the island.

All his magical items, with the exception of his wand, were kept in the utility room at the back of the house and the smallest of his five bedrooms. The rest of his house did indeed look Muggle, but having Potter point that out made him feel uncomfortable.

"You know why you're here, Potter. Get on with it."

"Right, yes," mumbled Harry. "Can I take a seat?"

"If you must."

Settling himself on leather sofa, Harry placed his fidgeting hands in his lap. "Right. Well...what is it that you want to know?"

"Why are you and Granger here? Are you staying? Why did you call Granger 'Jean'? And why didn't Granger recognise me?" he listed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Aren't you going to take a seat?"

"No, I'd rather stand."

"Okay then," said Harry, adjusting his glasses again. "Um...well, I guess you'll be happy to know that I am not staying here-"

"Good."

"I'll be leaving in about a few days. But Jean...I mean Hermione...she will be staying. She's moved into Watermill Cottage. That's her new home. I'm just helping her move everything."

"Right," Draco bit out. "And why the hell are you calling her Jean?"

Harry swallowed deeply. "Can I have a glass of water please? My throat-"

"Get on with it. I'm losing my patience."

"But, I-"

"Now, Potter."

"Hermione lost her memory," he blurted out. "There was an...an accident about eight months ago, and when she woke up from her coma two months later, she'd lost her memory. That's why she didn't recognise you."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "That doesn't explain why you're calling her Jean."

"Look, it's very difficult. Memory Charms are strange things-"

"Someone used a Memory Charm on her?"

Harry sighed deeply and looked at the floor. "Not exactly. Look, the point it is it can be difficult with Muggle-borns like Hermione. The Memory Charm that affected her essentially erased all her memories involving anything magical."

Frowning, Draco relented and took a seat in his armchair. "I've never heard of a Memory Spell that does that-"

"I told you, it's very complicated. Anyway, after this accident happened, she woke up in St. Mungo's with only her memories from before she found out she was a witch. Long story short, she woke up believing she was a Muggle and without any knowledge of the magical world. She thinks she had a fall and bumped her head and that's why she can't remember the last fourteen years."

"Couldn't you just try to reverse the spell?"

"Nothing had any effect. We're working on a treatment, but we're waiting for permission from the Indian Ministry to hunt for some ingredients over there. Anyway...it's difficult. When we realised that she believed she was Muggle we knew that...preparations had to be made."

"Preparations?"

"Well, yes," sighed Potter. "Do you not keep up to date with the Ministry or anything anymore?"

Draco shook his head. "I couldn't care less."

"Hermione was working for the Department of Magical Law, specifically with monitoring the Death Eaters in prison and also inspecting any leads concerning possible Death Eaters who had escaped after the War. There's some evidence that there could be at least thirty that were never imprisoned."

"I still don't understand why you're calling her Jean, Potter. Get to the point."

"Well, we had no choice. Do you realise how much danger Hermione would be in if a group of Death Eaters found out? If they found out that one of only three people who know all the security details of incarcerated Death Eaters had lost her memory and had no idea how to defend herself? She would be an instant target for torture to try and recover that information."

The question had crossed Draco's mind: Just why was Potter sharing this information so freely with him? Did Potter not associate him with the Death Eaters he kept mentioning? Because he could name a few people who probably still did. But still, he was too intrigued to interrupt.

"Surely Granger remembered her name? You said she only forgot the magical stuff."

Harry's sigh was heavier this time. "We had to cast another memory spell on her...just a small one so she thought her name was Jean."

"Fucking hell, Potter, you screwed with her memory even more? Why not just punch her in the head a few times and save yourself the magic?"

"Look, you don't understand!" shouted Potter, irate. "She'd forgotten everything! Me, Ron, everyone! She'd forgotten who she was and we just had to do what was best for her! We didn't want to screw with her memory more, but we had to think about her safety! Do you know many Hermione Grangers there are in Britain? Two. We checked. If we'd have let her keep her name, she would have been tracked down in a matter of weeks. Do you know how many Jean Grangers there are in Britain? Approximately nine thousand."

"Okay," replied Draco, leaning forward. "Then why the hell did you decide she should live here? Surely if you want to keep her far away from the Death Eaters, somewhere abroad would make more sense."

"Too much paperwork. Plus, if I ever needed to Apparate to her in an emergency, I wouldn't be able to do that without permission if she was outside the UK. We chose St. Mary's because when we checked the records it was one of only two places in Britain where magical folk hadn't resided in almost a century."

"I know, that's why I decided to live here."

"Exactly. And here we are."

An accidental silence filled the space between them and Draco took the moment to go over everything that Potter had just divulged. Again, the question pestered him: Why was Potter telling him all this?

"You seem to have settled into Muggle life well, Malfoy," remarked Potter. "Having your shopping delivered and all."

"Is there a reason you keep on mentioning the Muggles, Potter?"

"I just find it interesting that you chose to live in a Muggle area when you hated them as much as you did."

Draco shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's easier to live amongst people you hate, than to live amongst people who hate you."

"So you still hate them then?"

"I tolerate them."

"So you-"

"The Muggles on this island are no more irritating than any witches or wizards I have met. At least the Muggles leave me alone. "

"Yes, I can tell," said Harry. "I can tell that you've changed, I mean. It's written all over you."

Draco shifted in his seat, feeling uneasy. "What the hell are you getting at, Potter?"

"I did a bit of research on you before I came to see you this evening."

Narrowing his eyes into thin, serpentine slits, Draco sat back and licked his teeth. "Do you have the authority to do that?"

"I'm Deputy Head of the Auror Department now."

"Of course you are."

Harry leaned forward. "Your check-in officer is Felicity Bagsthorpe, right? I called her earlier and asked about you and I have to say, I was rather surprised."

"What does this have to do with-"

"She spoke very highly of you, Malfoy; said you'd never so much as whispered a bad word to a Muggle or Muggle-born or put a toenail out of line." Potter tilted his head with thought. "She did say your attitude is generally sour and you are rude, sometimes cruel, but that you are like that to everyone-"

"You really do enjoy the sound of your own voice," drawled Draco, bored.

"And that you have three registered addresses under your name. On her official documents you are listed as residing in Malfoy Manor, but your mail has been diverted to this address for the past six years. That's why you didn't show up on the records when I searched for magical folk here. Your other address is in France, and she suspects you are keeping your head down so that your confinement to Britain goes smoothly and you can move to Paris as soon as your sentence is over."

Draco's slapped his hand together in a slow, sarcastic clap. "Top job, Potter. You put Sherlock Holmes to shame."

"With the exception of a meeting at your company every now and then, you have nothing to do with the Wizarding World at all."

"Are you done with-"

"She also revealed that when your Gringotts records were checked about a year ago that you had donated a generous sum to a post-war charity."

Balling his fists and sucking in the air through his teeth, Draco rose to his feet in a sharp, sudden movement that made his head swim. "You have no right to that information! Those details are confidential!"

"I am allowed to check certain things-"

"Bullshit, Potter! I may not be allowed to leave this shithole country, but I am entitled to my privacy!"

"I think she was trying to you a favour, Malfoy. And I want to do you a favour, too."

"You want to do me a favour? Get your ugly, fucking face of this island, and take Granger with you! Leave me the hell alone!"

"That's not a possibility," replied Harry, his hands fidgeting in his lap again. "We have spent the last six months making all these arrangements for Hermione. To leave and change everything now without an explanation isn't possible and it would make her so confused-"

"Granger's wellbeing is not my problem."

"It is now."

Draco stilled and fixed Potter with a fierce glare. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hermione's wellbeing is my main priority," said Potter steadily. "And if I think you will jeopardise that, then I will use my authority to have you removed from the island."

"You slimy piece of shit," spat Draco, his features contorted with rage. "You think you have the right to screw with my life? I've lived here for six years! Six years! And you think you can charge in here-"

"I don't want to have you relocated, Malfoy. What I actually want is to offer you a proposition."

"You can stick your proposition so far up your arse you choke on it!"

"You have five years remaining of your sentence, correct?" Harry's voice was purposeful, his words slow. "What if I could reduce that to one year? Just twelve more months, and then you would be free to leave and go wherever you want. And you can keep living here for that year."

Draco's breaths left him in short, shallow spurts. "What?"

"I have the authority to shorten your sentence. And in return, I want you to keep an eye on Hermione while she's living here. I want you to let me know if at any point you notice anything suspicious that might indicate-"

"Excuse me? What are you - Are you taking the piss? You want me to keep an eye on Granger? Have you completely lost it?"

"I am being completely serious. And as I said, in return I will shorten your sentence."

Draco clicked his jaw. "And if I refuse your completely insane proposition?"

Harry cleared his throat. "You will be relocated."

"That's not a proposition, Potter. That's blackmail."

"It is what it is."

With his shoulders slumped and his movements weary, Draco dropped back down into his chair, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees. "Why on Earth would you trust me to keep an eye on Granger?"

"I don't trust you, but the alternative isn't favourable. There are only seven people that know about Hermione; eight including you. None of us are able to move here and watch her, so my original idea was to have one of the Aurors move here to monitor her."

"Then why don't you do that?"

"Again, more paperwork. Paperwork leaves a trail, and I'm not entirely sure I can trust everyone in the department. In fact, I know I can't."

"But, again, why would you trust me to do it?"

"Well, the first reason is I have leverage I can use against you which gives me some insurance."

"Careful, Potter."

"And I know you wouldn't do anything to harm her," Harry said confidently. "You might be a rude git, but you're not dangerous. And, as I said, I can tell you've changed, and Felicity confirmed that for me."

"I might not harm her, Potter, but I don't give a shit about her."

"You don't need to. You just need to keep your eyes open for anything or anyone unusual that could indicate that she is under threat. That's all I'm asking you to do."

Draco shook his head. "Don't make it sound so simple, Potter. We both know how curious Granger is, and I'm sure that the incident today made her very curious about me. She'd be bugging me with questions like a fly bugging shit." He paused and leaned forward. "What did you tell her after I left?"

"The truth to some extent; that we were all in the same school year, but you were a bully and we didn't get along."

"But, of course, Granger doesn't know about Hogwarts."

Potter dropped his head and sighed. "No, she believed she attended a Muggle boarding school in Scotland called St. Andrews. We had to fake some documents because we knew she would research it all. We also planted a few memories in the heads of the Muggles who work there, just in case."

"Merlin's balls, Potter."

"As I said, we had to make preparations."

Leaning back in his chair, Draco gripped the arms of his chair, his nails squeaking across the leather. "What other preparations have you made?"

"I don't want to-"

"I want to know what I'm getting myself into here before I even consider agreeing to anything. Tell me."

Frowning in submission, Harry brushed away the sweat that gathered on his upper-lip. "Well, for a start, the people who know about her are myself, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Cho, and Cho's husband, Lucas."

"Why the hell-"

"Lucas is a Muggle, and we needed a Muggle who knew about the magical world. Now, we have no idea why, but when Hermione woke from her coma, all of her memories of magic had gone, except she remembered all the Latin from the spells. She can speak it fluently, although, to be fair, we don't know if she studied it anyway."

"I don't understand how this is relevant, Potter."

"Well, Lucas works as Plymouth University as the head of the Languages Department. Plymouth is the closest University to here; just over an hour once you get to the mainland. We asked for his help and he arranged for Hermione to have a job at the University translating Latin texts, which she can do from home. Again, we planted a few memories in the minds of staff members, and Hermione believes she has been working at the University for over three years."

"Fucking hell, Potter," groaned Draco. "How many people's minds have you screwed with?"

"A few more," he confessed, his voice tired. "We also had to tell her some of our names were different. Mine's the same because my name's pretty popular; there's over thirteen thousand Harry Potters in Britain-"

"Can't think of anything worse-"

"But we had to change the others. Hermione believes Ron and Ginny's surname is Williams, Neville's is Lane, and Luna's is Lewis. Cho took Lucas' last name, Roberts, so she was fine. We were worried that if Hermione spoke to the wrong people, names like 'Weasley' and 'Longbottom' would be picked up on very quickly."

"I'm not changing my surname, Potter. Besides, everyone on this island knows my last name."

"It wouldn't be necessary. Who would think for a second that Hermione would have anything to do with you? Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Yes, why a year exactly?"

"Well, I told you we're working on a treatment for her and we're waiting for the Indian Ministry. Neville is the one working on a potion to reverse the memory loss-"

"Longbottom's in charge?" scoffed Draco. "Granger's fucked."

"You really haven't been keeping in touch with the wizarding world, have you?" said Harry, his tone slightly smug. "Neville's the most prolific Herbologist in Europe right now. Eighteen months ago he created a potion that had a sixty-four percent success rate in breaking the Imperius Curse. He's confident he can create a potion for Hermione, he's just waiting for permission to get an ingredient from India; a plant called Eyebright. We get some species in Britain, but the one Neville needs only grows near the Himalayas."

"And what if Longbottom is unsuccessful after a year? Would I be expected to keep watching her?"

"No, I said one year. If Neville was unsuccessful, I would make other arrangements that didn't involve you. You would be free to go regardless of Hermione's condition."

Stretching his arms above his head and leaning back in his chair, Draco released a dry, mirthless chuckle. "This is completely fucking ridiculous."

"Is it ridiculous because you're actually considering it?"

Draco hesitated. The silence that swallowed up the room was a welcome one and Draco thought about everything he had learned in the last twenty minutes. He studied Potter with half-lidded eyes, focusing on the way his old rival's clammy hands were still clasped together in a tight nervous knot. Already sweat had gathered on his upper lip again and his eyes were darting everywhere, seemingly doing everything to avoid Draco's unflinching stare.

"What are you hiding, Potter?"

Harry jumped. "What?"

"You're hiding something. I'm pretty certain it's something to do with how Granger lost her memory seeing as you've been so vague about that part of your story."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."

"Yes, you do," hissed Draco quietly. "Yes, you do, and you are going to tell me right now. How did Granger lose her memory?"

After a pause Harry lifted his slightly trembling hand and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Can I have a glass of water now?"

"No."

"Please, Malfoy."

With a growl trapped in his throat, Draco rose from his seat and stalked towards his kitchen. "I'm having a whiskey."

"I'm fine with water, thanks."

"I wasn't offering you my whiskey, Potter."

In the soothing solitude of the kitchen, Draco pondered over Potter's 'proposition' again, weighing up all the potential benefits and difficulties that could come from the arrangement. The prospect of babysitting an amnesiac Granger and reporting back to Potter like some pathetic pet made him furious, and yet the possibility of having his sentence reduced to just one more year was painfully tempting. So tempting indeed.

He poured Potter's glass of water, prepared himself a whiskey, knocked it back with one desperate swallow, and then poured himself another.

Returning to the living room with both glasses in his hands, he slammed down the water on the coffee table beside Potter with a harsh clunk. Sinking back down in his armchair, Draco scrutinised Potter carefully as he practically lunged for his water and gulped down half of the glass. Pausing for a quick breath, Potter drank more, still doing everything he could to avoid Draco's penetrating glare.

"Are you trying to drown yourself, Potter? Normally I wouldn't object, but you've wasted so much of my time already."

"I'm just very thirsty."

"And I'm very impatient. Hurry up."

Setting the glass down and clearing his throat, Harry wiped another thin layer of sweat from his upper-lip. "Do you...do you know what happened to Hermione's parents during the War?"

Draco arched his eyebrow. "I vaguely remember reading an article in The Prophet a few weeks after the battle. Didn't she send them to Australia or something?"

"That article wasn't exactly reliable, but yes, she did. Long story short, Hermione wanted to ensure they were safe so she created a memory spell that would erase any memories that had anything to do with magic. So, all memories involving anything to do with the magical world, including Hermione herself, were completely removed, and then she planted a fake memory about them deciding to move to Australia."

"I really don't understand what this has to with Granger's memory loss."

"It has everything to with it. Hermione obviously wanted to reverse the spell after the war, but it was more difficult than we anticipated. Because of the infiltration of the Ministry, all our alliances with other ministries around the world had been severed. This meant we couldn't travel to those countries except in emergencies. Hermione's case wasn't deemed an emergency so she couldn't go to Australia to track down her parents."

Draco would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't slightly intrigued. Six years tucked away from all talk of the magical world had been his choice, and yet something familiar tugged at his gut as Potter wittered on.

"It took two years for us rebuild most of our alliances, so then Hermione travelled to Australia and it took about six months for her to find her parents. She tried a few of the usual counter-charms for memory loss, but they didn't work, so she came home and started to work on spells and potions to reverse the effects. Eventually, she invented a spell that she was certain would be successful in restoring all their memories involving the wizarding world and, therefore, restore their memories of her."

"Right," mumbled Draco uncertainly. "So?"

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "I went with her, and things didn't go as planned. You see, she...Well, there was..."

"Just spit it out, Potter!"

"She missed!" blurted Harry. "We went to her parents' house and stunned them and...I don't know how it happened, whether she slipped or something, but she cast the spell and it was headed straight for me, so I...I deflected it…It was instinct."

Draco nodded his head with smug understanding. "So you deflected the spell, and it hit Granger."

"Yes."

"And because the purpose of Granger's spell was to bring back memories of the wizarding world, when you deflected it, it had the opposite effect, and that's why she doesn't remember anything magical."

The collar of Harry's shirt was damp with sweat now. "Yes."

"So this was all your fault? You're the reason Granger has no memory."

"It was an accident-"

"An accident you caused, Potter," interrupted Draco, unable to resist the dig. "No wonder you look so guilty."

"It was an accident," repeated Harry. "But it meant...it meant that we had to take her parents into consideration when were making preparations for her."

"What do you mean?"

"When she woke up from her coma, we had no choice but to tell her that her parents had died in an accident when she was eighteen."

Draco felt his jaw fall an inch. Never could he have predicted that Potter, of all people, would say something that would irk his moral conscience. "Merlin's Fucking Grave," he mumbled. "You have got to be joking. Surely you, Saint Potter, could not stoop-"

"We had no alternative," defended Harry. "What was I supposed to do? Tell her that her parents had conveniently lost their memories as well? Or just say that her parents had no interest in speaking to her at all? What the hell would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have gotten myself into this monumental cock up in the first place-

"It was an accident."

"That doesn't excuse all the other messed up shit you've done since."

Harry exhaled harshly through his nostrils. "I don't need to justify my decisions to somebody like you."

Draco bristled and bore his eyes into the other man. "Somebody like me? A Slytherin, you mean? Or just this Slytherin who admittedly screwed up a fair few times when he was a teen, but has managed to avoid completely screwing up his supposed best friend's life beyond comprehension?"

Harry waited a moment before he mumbled, "You are not an innocent, Malfoy."

"Neither are you, Potter. But one of us can't show his face in Wizarding London without receiving a barrage of abuse, while the other works high up in the Ministry and is blindly adored by the population."

"I am not to blame for the way people feel about you, Malfoy."

Draco snorted. "Aren't you?"

Sighing, Harry sat up in his chair and seemed to compose himself. "I've told you the options, Malfoy. The decision is yours."

"And what's to stop me going to the press about this?" Draco snapped defensively. "You have me relocated if I refuse, but then I go to the press and tell them about Granger so all your hard work is for nothing anyway. Or do you plan on fucking up my memory, too?"

"I thought about it," admitted Harry bluntly. "But, no. Felicity knows I've contacted or researched you on some level and if you suddenly lost your memory, it wouldn't take long for her to make a connection. To save you exposing Hermione, I would ask for Felicity to increase scrutiny on you and, if necessary, have you…imprisoned should you give any indication of going to the press."

Draco clenched his fist until his knuckles were white. He should have assumed Potter would have considered that possibility; he wasn't stupid, despite all his actions to the contrary.

"This isn't personal, Malfoy," said Harry sullenly. "I need to keep her safe and that means keeping her condition a secret. Surely even you can understand that-"

"Don't make yourself sound like such a martyr, Potter. You are blackmailing me into this. You are completely screwing me over and I don't know if it's because we despised each other at Hogwarts-"

"I did not come here to revisit old issues with you. I came here to explain Hermione's situation and offer you the chance to remain in your home in return for keeping an eye on her."

"Don't make it sound like you're doing me a favour, Potter."

"I'm trying to make it more of an agreement that could benefit us both. I've told you my conditions and I will not waver on them. Either you take my offer, or I will put in an immediate notice to Felicity that you are to be relocated."

Draco paused and tapped his glass with his nail, concentrating on the prolonged ding that vibrated around the room. "And you want my answer this second?"

"You can sleep on it," said Harry, rising from his seat. "I'll return tomorrow evening to have your answer."

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry made a desperate break for the door, like the room itself was suffocating him. Draco called his name just before he could grab the handle, and Harry reluctantly turned around.

"I would want an Unbreakable Vow," stated Draco, enunciating each syllable. "An assurance that you would indeed cut my sentence short and relieve me of any obligation after a year. In return, I would vow to contact you should I believe Granger's safety is compromised. Just as an extra…insurance."

"Unbreakable Vows are illegal, Malfoy."

"I think that ship has pretty much sailed as far as you're concerned, Saint Potter."

With a final, heavy sigh, Harry slowly bobbed his head once. "Fine, I will agree to an Unbreakable Vow. So you'll do it?"

Draco flicked his glass again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening, Potter."

Harry hovered by the door, waiting for a confirmation or rejection to his offer, but when he realised he was going to receive neither he left the room. Draco waited for the closing click of his front door before he backhanded his glass off the table with enough force for it to collide with the wall and shatter into a sparkling spray of glass. A long, laboured breath trembled its way out of his lungs as he collapsed his body forward, grasping his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His fingernails dug into his hairline and his teeth grinded together.

The last time he had felt so buried beneath a situation he couldn't handle had been back when he was sixteen and Voldemort had branded his arm with a one-way ticket to destruction. Admittedly, comparing Potter to Voldemort was perhaps a tad extreme, yet the heaviness in Draco's stomach had the same gravity as it had all those years ago.

He felt trapped. Backed into a corner.

There were only two options and neither was fair nor desirable.

But if he was honest with himself, he had made a decision. And as much as he detested that decision, it had settled steadfastly in his head and fixed itself there like an unwelcome tumour.

He glanced at the sprinkling of broken glass winking up at him from the floor. With a final resigned sigh, he rose from his seat and made his way to bed.

The broken glass could wait until tomorrow.


	4. The Keel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: So Close – Olafur Arnalds

~.~

**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

**~.~**

Chapter 4: The Keel

.

By the time Harry returned to the cottage the following evening, Draco had considered and reconsidered the options no less than twenty times. At one point during his sleepless night he had even started packing a suitcase, but had barely placed three items inside before taking them back out. Somewhere between five in the morning and sunrise, Draco had resigned himself to the fact that his mind was already made.

The promise of having his sentence reduced to one year had seduced him from the first.

Still, just because he had surrendered himself to the inevitable, it didn't mean he was happy about it. On the contrary, he was furious about it.

So when Potter knocked on his door a little after seven in the evening, Draco welcomed him with a harsh scowl and few words. It was only when they were both settled on the couches in the living room that Draco realised just how much he resented Potter for putting him in this position.

And not just him. Apparently there were plenty of pawns in Potter's guilt-fuelled game to protect Granger.

He watched Potter with incensed, half-lidded eyes as he sat there casually, drumming his fingers against his knee for a moment before he reached down for the bag he had placed beside his feet. Rummaging around for a few moments, he finally withdrew a folder with several pieces of paper poking out of the sides and set it down on the coffee table.

"What the hell is that?" asked Draco.

"A record of all the…things that we have told Hermione since her coma."

"You mean all the _lies_ you've told her."

Harry ignored the comment. "I have a copy, Luna has a copy, and now you have one. It's protected by three passwords and impossible to read unless you know all three. Should Luna, you, or I add any information, it will appear on all the copies."

Draco scoffed. "And you expect me to read all that?"

"It's just a precaution. I know you intend to avoid her as much as you can, and that suits me just fine. But just in case you do have a conversation that lasts longer than sixty seconds, anything you need to know is in here." Harry hesitated, his hand resting on top of the folder. "This is completely confidential. No one can know these files exist."

"I understand what confidential means."

Pushing the folder towards Draco, Harry fidgeted in his seat. "The passwords are: Cruithne, Houdini, and Ancalagon, in that order. You'll need to be holding your wand when you say them. Don't write them down anywhere, just in case."

"Couldn't have made them any more complicated?" he asked, snatching the folder.

"Will you remember them?"

"I'm not completely useless, Potter, I think I can manage three words."

Harry sighed, apparently a little uneasy about yielding the precious documents. "Okay…Okay, well I need to give you these, too," he muttered, rummaging in the bag again before pulling out a tub of blue powder and a silver, crescent-shaped ring. "The powder is a special type of Floo powder. It won't let you travel, but it will contact me directly at either home or work."

"And if you're not in either of those places?" asked Draco.

"I have a ring similar to yours and if I'm not close to a fireplace, it will get very hot so I know to get to one," he explained."It works the other way around, too, just in case I need to contact you. If it gets hot, get to a fireplace. If there's an emergency, tap your wand against the ring three times and it will change colour to blue and I will Apparate to you immediately. Luna has a ring too, but it will only change colour if I don't respond to your distress call after two minutes."

"So Lovegood knows about me?"

Harry nodded. "It was necessary for me to tell her. She designed these things for when we thought about having an undercover Auror move here."

"Does anyone else know about me? Weasley? Longbottom?"

"Just Luna. As far as the others are concerned, an undercover Auror has moved here to keep an eye on her." He paused to shrug. "I didn't think they'd understand my reasons for asking you."

Draco snorted. "Do _you_?"

"I probably have just as many reservations as you, Malfoy," mumbled Harry. "Luna seemed perfectly fine with it, though. Even supportive of the idea."

"And why exactly is it that you only told Lovegood? Was it in the hope that if she did happen to blab anything, people would just assume it's her usual insane drivel?"

"God, you really have lost complete touch with the wizarding world, haven't you? Luna works for the Department of International Magical Cooperation and is the Head for the sub-department for foreign relations. She and I have been the main people in charge of ensuring Hermione's safety and making sure no one got curious about her absence from London."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Well, surely somebody must have noticed Granger's absence from London by now? You said she'd been in a coma for six months. Her colleagues surely-"

"We've set it up to look like she's working in Australia for a year. Luna sorted out all the necessary documents and created a few red herrings about Death Eater sightings near Dampier. Part of Hermione's job means travelling so it's not so unusual for her to investigate the claims. Anyway, just to be careful we…" Harry paused and looked away. "...We even set up a meeting with some of her colleagues in the department with Luna posing as Hermione with Polyjuice."

After a brief spell of silence, Draco released a hollow, mirthless laugh. "Merlin's grave," he said between chuckles. "What the hell am I letting myself in for? How many more skeletons are in your overflowing closet of bullshit?"

Harry appeared to genuinely consider the question. "Those are the ones you need to know. Like I said, everything else is in that file. Anyway, even if Hermione does try to speak to you, you can just deflect and point out that we weren't all exactly close-"

"No shit-"

"So there's no reason you would know her life story in as much detail. All you really need to remember is to call her Jean and that we all went to school in Saint Andrews. Easy."

"And just to clarify, you're not asking me to actually initiate conversations with her or anything? You're not suggesting I check in once a week. If I see anything, I get in contact. That's it?"

"That's all. If you want to only leave your house once a month and avoid all contact with her, that's your decision. I know she'll be curious about you and probably try to talk to you, but I'm sure you'll be your usual charming self and tell her to sod off."

Draco grinned in spite of himself. "Oh, Potter, am I that predictable?"

Harry pursed his lips and leaned forward. "So…I'm assuming from the fact that you even allowed me over the threshold means that you are going to accept this…deal?"

Draco met Potter's anxious eyes with a reluctant glower. "It's not like I've got any other option, Potter."

"Well…you do have options. "

"What? Babysit Granger or get kicked out of my home by you and possibly get thrown into prison if I don't comply?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't say they were options you liked, but they're options nonetheless."

"I'll do it, Potter," Draco hissed out, and the words sounded like fatal _clap_ of a judge's gavel. "But as I said, I want an Unbreakable Vow so you can't back out of your side of the deal. After a year, I'm gone. I have no more involvement, I am free to leave the country, and I will never have to see you or Granger, or hear about this monumental fuck up again."

"Okay," said Harry, fidgeting in his seat. "Okay, that's the deal. I guess…there's just the Vow, then."

It had been Draco who had demanded that they write out the conditions first to ensure that there were no possible omissions or loopholes. After over an hour of bickering, which had produced seven drafts of the Vow, they had finally reached an agreement of the technicalities and were ready to proceed. Draco found it ironic that Potter's brow was spattered with nervous beads of sweat. Surely performing the Unbreakable Vow would barely be considered a petty crime compared the countless other offenses he had committed according to his story.

With a final sigh of surrender as Draco truly realised the extent of what he was about to agree to, he extended his hand for Potter to take. With no third party, they both had to use their wands, and he could see Potter's was trembling in his sweaty hand.

"Okay," breathed Harry, positioning his wand over their joined hands. "Ready?"

"Get it over with, Potter. Before I change my mind."

"Here we go," said Harry, and green light slowly began to pour out of his wand. "As of tomorrow, for exactly one year, do you, Draco Malfoy, promise to contact me as I have instructed should you consider Hermione Granger to be in any trouble? Or should you witness anything that you believe may indicate that there are other magical folk nearby?"

Draco swallowed heavily. "I will."

"And will you keep all the information I have divulged to you about Hermione Granger's circumstances confidential to ensure that her safety is not compromised?"

"I will."

"And will you yourself refrain from any activity or actions that may lead to Hermione Granger being in physical harm, either directly by you, or by passing on information to others?"

"I will."

"And will you, should the occasion arise, corroborate any details that I have specifically mentioned regarding Hermione Granger's fabricated life so that she remains oblivious to her true identity, unless her memory returns?"

"I will," said Draco, lifting his own wand. "And will you, Harry Potter, release me of my confinement to the United Kingdom as per my sentence from the Ministry as of one year tomorrow, September first, should I meet the requirements of this vow?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I will."

"And will you, after the year is over, release me from all of the aforementioned conditions of this vow, regardless of Granger's condition at said time?"

"I will."

"And will you release me from any involvement with your cover up regarding Hermione Granger's identity as of the year being over?"

"I will."

The green magic that encircled their hands seemed to spark for a few moments and then fizzled away, leaving a mist of green that sunk into their handshake, tingling Draco's skin before it felt like there became a pressure, forcing their hands to hold together tighter. And then just as quickly as it had come, the pressure was gone, and both he and Potter practically ripped their hands away from each other. Draco could feel the residual effect of dark magic slithering through his fingers like pins and needles.

Oh Merlin, what had he done?

"Is that it?" asked Harry. "Did it work?"

"It is done," said Draco gravely, heading for the kitchen to ease his troubles with a glass of The Famous Grouse. "We have both officially signed our lives away."

"You were the one that wanted to do the Unbreakable Vow, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged. "I needed some insurance. So, now what?"

Harry followed him into the kitchen. "I need to get back to Hermione, she'll be wondering why the hell it's taken me over an hour to get milk. I'm heading back to London in three days. A few of the Aurors have come down with Scandinavian flu, so they've cut my holiday short. After that, you're on your own."

Draco wanted to retort that he had been on his own for the past six years and managed just fine, thank you very sodding much, but the words sounded more pathetic than proud in his head.

"Then there's no reason for you to be here any longer," he said instead. "As always, Potter, it's been the absolute opposite of a pleasure."

"Malfoy, for what it's worth, I do appreciate what you're doing."

"I'm not doing it for you, Potter. I'm doing it so I can get the hell away from here and live a life without the Ministry breathing down my neck. If I have to play look out for Granger for a year, then so be it."

"Remember, she's not Hermione anymore," warned Harry. "She's Jean."

"I've never called her anything other than Granger and that won't change."

"And you can't mention anything to do with the magical world. You have to be a Muggle around her."

Draco snorted and poured himself another whiskey. "In case you'd failed to notice, I've been living as a Muggle for six years, Potter. And I'm not completely gormless like wankbag Weasley. Give me some credit."

"Still," mumbled Harry, ignoring the insult about Ron. "If you say anything, even something minor, you have to contact me. And any details you reveal to her about the forgotten years, you must write down in that file so that Luna and I are aware-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, Potter," growled Draco, suddenly feeling impatient. "Can you please bugger off so I can salvage the rest of my evening?"

With a nod of his head, Harry neared Draco with an outstretched hand. "Good evening, Malfoy."

Draco glared at Potter's hand like it was freshly soiled nappy. "I think we've touched hands more than enough tonight. You can see yourself to the door, Potter."

.

* * *

.

Draco managed a full twelve days without interruption or interference.

For the first three of those days, he had considered and reconsidered on no less than twenty occasions tracking down Potter to put an end to this ridiculous arrangement that he had so foolishly demanded they finalise with the Unbreakable Vow. Draco remembered that Potter had said he would be returning to the mainland on the third day and that day had been the hardest. Draco had paced the length and breadth of his house until his knees were sore and he had started to sweat. It brought back awful flashbacks of being hunched over a sink in the boys' toilets back in Hogwarts and wondering why people with power always seemed to catch up to him and use him to their advantage.

When the sun sank into the sea on the third day, Draco truly resigned himself to the gravity of his situation and yielded to it all with half a bottle of whiskey.

On the fifth day, he had been so tense and on edge that he'd had his first migraine since the weeks before the Battle of Hogwarts and had secluded himself in his room with the dull throb hammering at the back of his eye sockets.

It was only on the seventh day, a full week after his clandestine encounter with Potter that the weight of his decision began to ease a little. A full week, with no sign of Granger. He had fully been expecting her to track him down with an array of questions within the first couple of days. If there was one thing you could guarantee from a Gryffindor, it was that irritating, and often dangerous, combination of too much impulse and not enough patience. It was not in Gryffindor nature to wait for anything. Particularly, in Granger's case, something you were curious about.

By the eighth day, Draco started to wonder if Potter had successfully managed to dissuade Granger from seeking him out with stories (or truths, depending on perception) of how awful he had been to her at school. Perhaps, with a little hyperbole and persuasion, Potter had convinced her to keep some distance. Draco could only hope.

On the tenth day, realising he had been putting off his daily run lest he inadvertently bump into an inquisitive Granger, he had reluctantly ventured out of the house for a small jog, differing from his usual route past Watermill Cove Cottage. Despite his altered course, Draco had felt a small and arguably pathetic sense of achievement for leaving his house and the meeting with Potter had slipped further from his mind.

By the twelfth day, positive now that Potter had convinced Granger to avoid him, Draco almost felt normal. He slipped back into his usual routine with only a few fleeting thoughts about Potter and Granger to disturb his otherwise ordinary day. He woke up at his usual time, completed his usual paperwork, ran his usual run, and went to bed at his usual hour. On that night, he even managed to fall asleep with little difficulty.

So, on the thirteenth day, when there was a gentle but decisive knock against his door, Draco slumped his shoulders and scolded himself for being so deluded. Scolded himself for being seduced so easily into a false sense of security.

Of course it was her. Of course she would eventually seek him out. Of. Fucking. Course.

He thought about ignoring it. It would have been easy to cast a quick locking spell on the door and hide away until she left. But, with a heavy sigh, he rose from his seat and headed to the door, already regretting it. The knock repeated itself, slightly louder this time. Typical Granger, always tenacious.

He opened the door quickly before he could talk himself out of it, and there she was on the other side. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt that was a size or two too large, she shifted her weight nervously as the wind whipped her unkempt curls around her face.

They made eye contact, but that was all.

Neither spoke, neither moved, neither even seemed to breathe.

Draco estimated they stood there, just staring at each other, for half a minute before he shook his head with frustration and severed the silence. "Are you here for a reason?" he demanded, perhaps a little harsher than he'd intended.

Granger blinked and an embarrassed expression stole her features. "Um...I'm sorry," she stuttered, tucking her wild hair behind her ears. "I'm um...I'm Jean Granger, and I-"

"I know who you are." Draco wasn't sure why his voice sounded so offended.

"Right...yes, of course you do. That's not why...I'm here because I'm helping out Laura Miller, if you know her."

Draco grunted that he did. She was Timothy Wanker Miller's mother and a teacher at the local primary school.

"Well," Granger continued, shoving a small leaflet in his hand. "She's organising a tea party fundraiser to raise money for school supplies before the kids go back to-"

"No," he said simply, passing the leaflet back. "Not interested."

"But there will be-"

"Ask the people who live here, Granger. You're wasting your time even asking me." He backed up a few steps and went to shut the door.

"Wait!" she pleaded. "Wait, I...I wondering if there was any chance we could...we could talk? I know we knew each other at school and-"

"No," said Draco quickly. "And we didn't know each other."

"But Harry said-"

"We went to the same school and our history begins and ends there. Just like this conversation."

He slammed the door in her face so hard that the bang made the lights in his home rattle like glass chains. Outside, he heard Granger gasp and then mumble a few inaudible words in a distinctly offended tone. Waiting until the sounds of her retreating footsteps were out of earshot, he turned and leaned his back against the door, shaking his head.

"She's not going to give up that easy," he muttered to the silence. "Not a fucking chance."


	5. The Wuthering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Hozier – Arsonist's Lullaby

**~.~**

**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

**~.~**

Chapter 5: The Wuthering

.

One Sunday morning, Draco drummed his fingers agitatedly against the couch's arm and glanced at the clock for the eighth time in twelve minutes. It had been just over three weeks since Granger had had the audacity to knock on his door and tried to spark a conversation with him. Since then she had boldly knocked on his door a further four times, but he had ignored them all.

As a result of her invasion, he had put off his monthly supermarket shop to the point that he run out of food and eaten nothing since yesterday morning. His groaning stomach was only adding to his already tempestuous mood. He had heard of Muggle supermarkets offering food shopping delivery services and, once again, he cursed St. Mary's for being so traditional and backward. Aetos, perched on the back of the chair, cooed somewhat reassuringly and nuzzled his ear.

"Yes, I know," he mumbled, petting his owl. "I'm going."

With a flick of his wand he commenced his normal routine but with much more trepidation and agitation than usual. Within seconds of Apparating to the wood he was looking over his shoulder and tucking his chin close to his chest to keep his face as concealed as possible. The entire walk there his eyes were shifting from left to right, up and down, constantly scanning his surroundings for Granger's unwelcome face.

By the time he reached Hugh Town, his scrutinising glare was everywhere, lingering on the faces of brunette, curly-haired women similar to Granger's height and build. When he saw the Fletchers' supermarket, he practically sprinted inside.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy!"

Draco didn't even look up. "Mrs Fletcher."

"Do you need any help?" she called from the other end of the shop.

"Absolutely not," he shot back quickly, still not looking up.

He scooped up a basket and hurriedly started tossing in products, his stomach whining as he did so. Despite the countless times he had visited the supermarket and rushed his way through his shopping to avoid unnecessary conversation, this time he was so much faster. His ears subconsciously listened out for the bell above the door, yet it was the discussion occurring down by the till that grabbed his attention and crafted his dread into reality.

"...today if you want, Jean," said Mrs Fletcher. "If you're busy tonight, I can reschedule."

Draco froze. _Jean_.

"No, that's fine." Granger's voice. Unmistakably. "Honestly, Florence, it's not a problem."

Draco's glare snapped over and, sure enough, there she was. Of course she fucking was. And she was looking right at him with her wide, brown eyes. She even had the nerve to nod at him in greeting. Clad in dungarees and a white jumper underneath, she lifted her hand in an uncertain half-wave, but seemed to reconsider the gesture and looked back to Mrs Fletcher as she totalled up her shopping.

Gathering her bags in her hands, she held her head high as she headed towards him. Her chin seemed to lift higher and higher with every step she stamped in his direction. The expression on her face sat somewhere between offence and defiance, and Draco felt the need to match her hard eyes with his own.

"Draco," she greeted through pursed lips, but she didn't stop and headed straight for the door.

Really, had Draco learned anything in his twenty-five years on Earth, he might have known that to hold one's tongue was often the wisest decision, even when your tongue was as desperate as his was to retort. Needless to say, that lesson was one he still had yet to learn.

"That's Malfoy, to you." He practically heard her blood boil as she came to a sudden stop.

She whipped around like a startled cat. "Excuse me?"

"I said, you call me Malfoy."

"I wasn't aware that as I was allowed to call you anything at all," she snapped accusingly. "Honestly, you are so bloody rude."

"I'm rude? I'm not the one banging on people's doors multiple times a week like some fucking-"

"Oh, so you were home?"

Draco growled and shook his head. "It's still no excuse to pester someone-"

"I just wanted to see-"

"I know what you want, _Granger,_ " he hissed, emphasising her last name in a slow, deliberate drawl. "And I'm telling you to leave me alone. We weren't even on a first-name basis in school. Get it into that thick skull of yours."

He hadn't realised until he was finished, but her chest was heaving slightly and her cheeks were blushed with a whisper of rage. The fist holding her shopping bags was clenched, and he wouldn't have been surprised to see her hurl the laden bags at his head. Oddly, it sent a tingle of nostalgia across his mind, and he was reluctantly reminded of the time she had punched him in the face back in third year. At least, this time, he knew he would have deserved it.

"You are so...so..." she stuttered.

"Rude?" he finished. "Arrogant? Selfish? Obnoxious? Really, Granger, I've heard it all before. Just ask the people around here."

"Oh, now, Draco!" gasped Mrs Fletcher, who up until now had apparently been watching the show with unflinching attentiveness between sips of tea. "I wouldn't say those things about you. I mean, yes, you can be a bit blunt at times, but I..."

Instinctively, Draco allowed the old shopkeeper's voice to blur into the periphery, but in doing so, his focus on Granger intensified. Her eyes seemed sadder now, almost hurt, as they scanned his face. He wondered if she was hunting his features for some sense of recognition, some glimmer of a memory. As he stood there, watching her watching him, he vaguely hunted through his own memories; he tried to recall if she'd always had that spatter of freckles across the tip of her nose.

"Disappointing."

The solitary word snatched Draco's attention back. "What?"

"I said, you are so...disappointing," she sighed, dropping her eyes to her feet.

Draco's brow fell. He didn't like the way that word left him speechless, nor did he like the expression of discontent that had stolen her face as she'd uttered it. The unnerving silence that slotted in between them begged to be broken, but before Draco could muster a thought, the door to the shop opened, and the bell rang out like an alarm in Draco's ears.

"Jean! Come on, we'll be late!"

Tim Miller's voice called out with all the charm of a rooster call at three in the morning. Even more irritating, Granger seemed to smile as she turned to look at him.

"Hey, Draco," Tim grinned, reaching for Granger's bags. "Hello, Mrs Fletcher! Come on, Jean, I'll take these to the car."

With that, Tim disappeared out the door, and Draco was grateful for that small mercy at least.

"So he gets to call you Draco?" Granger asked, drawing his eyes back to her.

"He doesn't _get to_. He just doesn't listen to me when I tell him not to."

A wry smile pinched Granger's lips. "Well, perhaps I won't listen to you either, _Draco_."

And then she turned and left.

For a moment, Draco wasn't sure whether to be agitated or relieved, but he settled on the latter. Returning to his shopping, he collected his usual supplies and piled them up at the counter. Mrs Fletcher began to scan through his items, but, for the first time he could remember, she did so silently. Despite the absence of words, the knowing look on her wrinkled face spoke loudly, and Draco frowned hard at the old woman.

He knew he would regret it, but he asked her anyway. "What are you looking at me like that for, Mrs Fletcher?"

"I just think you could have handled that situation with a bit more tact, Draco," she said. "I mean, the poor girl has been through a great deal-"

"Her feelings aren't my responsibility."

"Oh, come on now, that's a very lonely way of looking at the world. Everyone is responsible for everyone's feelings. We all know she's suffering with memory loss and that you two went to school together-"

"That doesn't mean I know her."

"Perhaps not," she agreed. "But it means you share something with her that nobody else on this island does."

"And what's that?"

"A past."

Draco rolled his eyes and snorted. "I would hardly call it a past."

"Well, perhaps even a sliver of a past would be enough for her," Mrs Fletcher reasoned. "Just a thought."

He grunted in response, keen to end this discussion and reprimanding himself for beginning it in the first place. A bizarre and unwelcome urge to ask Mrs Fletcher if she knew where Granger had gone with Tim was quickly smothered by his pride. Of course she'd befriended the most feckless male on the island; her history with Potter and Weasley had guaranteed as much. Still, it irked him, although he couldn't quite figure out why.

"Are you sure that's all you're getting?" asked Mrs Fletcher. "I would have thought you might stock up a bit for next weekend."

Draco narrowed his eyes with confusion. "What's happening next weekend?"

"Haven't you heard? There's an awful storm forecast for Friday that's meant to last all weekend. They've already said they're closing the airport and docks, and they reckon there'll be floods and power-cuts. I think we're all closing early on Thursday and the town will be closed off until at least Monday."

"Oh joy," he breathed sardonically. "This day just continues to bring pleasure."

.

* * *

.

Truth be told, Draco enjoyed storms. Despite the fact that they sent the Muggle world into a meltdown, which brought with it an array of inconveniences, there was something about them that felt like home. And by home, he meant the Wizarding world. Perhaps it was the fact that, in many ways, a storm was the closest thing the Muggle world got to experiencing magic. Perhaps it was the sudden and stunning strikes of lightning or the rumbling roar of thunder, but something about the chaos of it all reminded him of spells and enchantments. That uneasy balance of the frightening and the beautiful.

He'd received a letter from the local council on Monday, confirming what Mrs Fletcher had said about the town shutting down in preparation. During his run on Wednesday, he had witnessed the locals taking extra care with mooring their boats or mounting them on trailers to be kept in storage. Some of the more coastal homes had boarded up their windows and stacked sandbags at their door-frames, but Draco knew all he needed was to cast a small charm to protect his house.

On his way home, he had slowed as he passed by Watermill Cottage to see Granger heaping sandbags by her back door. The wind was already tempestuous, and her hair thrashed around her head like a swarm of bees. For a brief moment, he considered helping her, but that thought was quickly extinguished. He thought she glanced in his direction, but if she did, she didn't acknowledge him. No awkward wave this time. Good. Perhaps she'd learned her lesson.

By Friday afternoon the tempest was fully enraged and battering the small island with a vengeance. At four O'clock the sky was already a blanket of deep navy, and ominous clouds hovered overheard like Zeppelins. It was barely October, but all the sunlight was starved from the sky like a day in December. Waves hurled themselves up cliffs and tore at the coast; even with the protection charm on his house, Draco could hear the raw fury of he sea battering the land. Sparks of lightning illuminated the air, sprawling across the clouds like fractures in glass.

While the rest of the island probably huddled for warmth and safety in their homes, Draco readied himself for a stroll. This really was the best time for him to wander the paths of the island, undisturbed as the rest of the population hid away from the storm. He didn't even need to take his wand with him; just a simple, wandless incantation would suffice to shield him from the worst of the winds and rain.

Calmly, he meandered down the familiar footpaths, his eyes lifted to the sky to appreciate the dance of lightning bolts. A couple of miles into his amble, he saw Watermill Cottage braving the brutal storm and he paused to survey how it was coping. A dim light flickered in the downstairs window between the nailed-in boards; Draco guessed Granger had lost power and lit some candles. That being said, the planks of wood shielding her windows and the mountain of sandbags seemed to be serving their purpose.

Good. No reason for him to linger.

Just beyond Granger's cottage, no more that two hundred yards away, was a perfect, isolated hill with breathtaking views. He had naturally avoided this spot for the past month due to its proximity to Granger, but now he perched himself on a crumbling bench that someone had placed there probably fifty years ago. From here, the sea stretched out for as far as he could see and reflected the tumult of the sky, emphasising the storm's power. The blinding flashes and explosions of waves worked together, pulsing in time with the drumming of thunder like an orchestra of mayhem.

In many ways it reminded him of the war, although why he took comfort in that, he didn't peruse too carefully. Regardless, the air crackled with energy with a very similar tingle to magic. He could feel it in his fingertips. Although he would never admit it, he missed it sometimes. Yes, he could cast the odd spell and charm as he pleased without alerting the Muggles, but it hardly compared to the impressive spells he _could_ cast. For all his flaws, he had been a skilled wizard, often second only to Granger back in Hogwarts. How ironic that now here she was; without magic or memory of her skills. He could imagine his father laughing in his grave.

"Draco!"

Her voice was barely a whisper above the storm, but he heard it.

"Draco!"

He spun around and quickly released the protection charm, lest she notice the rain bouncing off it, but the full force of the storm almost knocked him off his feet. Lost in the darkness with only a pathetic torchlight for guidance, he could just make out Granger slowly making her way towards him. The gale pushed her back with such ferocity that she stumbled to her knees. Reminded of the agreements of his Unbreakable Vow with Potter, Draco growled and started to push forward in her direction, but he himself had difficulty without the help of his spells.

"What the fuck are you doing, Granger?" he shouted over the clamour. "Go back home!"

If she replied, Draco didn't hear her. The storm seemed to sense their perilous situation and delighted in it, bellowing and blowing harder than before. With difficulty, Granger managed to pull herself back to her feet and desperately gestured for him to come closer to her.

Draco cautiously moved forward, trying to think of any wandless spells that might assist the situation whilst remaining undetectable, but all he could think of were protection shields, which would be far too obvious. It took a while, but eventually he was close enough to make out the nuances of Granger's rather startled features.

"What the fuck are you doing out here, Granger?" he shouted again. "Are you crazy?"

"What am I doing out here?" she repeated, and despite the wind, Draco could hear the irritation in her voice. "What the hell are you doing out here, Draco?"

"I told you not to call me that!"

"Oh, don't be so fucking ridiculous!"

Draco wasn't sure if it was the wind or Granger's use of a profanity, but either way he was nearly knocked down to the ground. A crash of lightning followed that was so loud it made the earth tremble beneath their feet, and Granger released a short scream of fright before reaching forward to grab a handful of Draco's coat. She yanked him forward, helping him get to back to his feet as best she could. When he was upright, she braced herself against him, urgently grasping his arms for balance.

"Come on!" she yelled. "Let's go!"

"I am fine!" he replied. "You head back home and I will go to my house!"

"Don't be so stupid! Come on!"

He tried to think about how he could get of it but, to a Muggle, walking the two miles back to his house was the equivalent of a death wish and Granger would have had the emergency coastguard out hunting for him in a heartbeat. Really, he only had himself to blame. He should have known the Gods would punish him for being so complacent so close to where she lived.

Together, with Granger still clutching him like a lifeline, they struggled their way back to Watermill Cottage, sometimes slipping and sliding in the mud along the way. As they finally reached the house, the only way Draco could ensure they both got inside safely was to stand behind her as she fumbled with her door, sheltering her with his body and with his hands placed high on the door-frame either side of her head.

"Hurry up, Granger!" he hissed against her ear as she clumsily groped for the doorknob.

"I'm sorry!"

Finally, something gave, and the moment Draco heard the door's hinges creak in surrender, he shoved Granger forward and toppled in straight after her, barely managing to avoid falling right on top of her. Using all of his remaining strength, he pulled the door closed and exhaled in relief as they were finally free of the brutal weather. But when he realised where he was and who was stuck with, he thought about flinging the door back open and making a run for it.

She was lying on the floor in a crumpled, sodden heap, leaning back on her elbows and breathing heavily. Reaching up to push away the soaking strands of hair clinging to her face, she fixed him with fierce scowl that, once again, reminded Draco of their school days.

"What the bloody hell were you doing out there, Draco?"


	6. The Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter is: Sleeping At Last – Dark Horse

**~.~**

**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

**~.~**

Chapter 6: The Ambush

.

"Oh, well this is just fucking fantastic," hissed Draco.

He looked at everything except her, shaking his soaking fringe out of his eyes and brushing away the excess rain from his jacket sleeves. Scanning his surroundings was difficult; only a small set of feeble candles on a coffee table at the centre of the lounge shed any light. The orange blaze flickered restlessly and toyed with the room's shadows, barely illuminating the two sofas, some overflowing bookshelves, and a television above a fireplace. Dotted around the room were a disproportionate amount of pictures in mismatched frames, clumsily displayed without any rhyme or reason. There must have been at least twenty of them altogether, but it was too dark for him to see the images themselves. Even more unusual, Draco noticed, was how...beige everything was. He'd expected warm colours— the stereotypical red and gold or her glory days — but it was all so neutral. So insipidly dull.

"I asked what you were doing outside," said Granger, gracelessly getting to her feet.

He still didn't look at her. "I was minding my own bloody business."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I was minding my own bloody business!"

He chastised himself for leaving his wand behind; a Shielding Charm on her house would be enough to convince her that the storm had settled and he could be on his way home. But, no. And now he was stuck with her. His eyes sought everything but her, but he could sense her rage practically vibrating around the room. Reluctantly, realising that he couldn't really stare at the walls and floor for the rest of the evening, he tilted his head.

It was hard to determine whether her coat was supposed to be navy or grey, but it was now black and heavy with water, weighing her down and looking more like a misshapen cape. Her hair was sodden, clinging to her cheeks and throat like thick, tangled seaweed. Raindrops peppered every inch of her incensed face like swollen freckles, and her lips were quivering in time with her chattering teeth.

"What the hell is your problem?" she asked furiously.

"Right now, my problem is being stuck in here with you-"

"Because you're such a joy the rest of the time?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "Look, I didn't ask for you to go out there and help me!"

"Oh, well I am so bloody sorry for inconveniencing you!" she yelled, tossing her arms in the air and sending a spray of water across the room. She spun on her heel and stomped away from him. "Harry was right. You really are a dickhead!"

"Then stop bloody bothering...wait, hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

She disappeared into the darkness beyond the candles' reach without a response. Although he couldn't see her, he could hear her; her footfalls were heavy and loud with frustration. They echoed around her old cottage like the beat of battle drums, as did the sound of her slamming a cupboard door shut before she came back into the frail light. Without warning, she launched a towel at him with unnecessary force, and it smacked him straight in the face.

"Shit! Granger, what the-"

"Dry yourself off. You're dripping all over my new rug."

She'd also retrieved a towel for herself and worked it roughly through her hair, glaring at him the entire time. Even when she shrugged out of her drenched coat, she didn't look away and, despite Draco's earlier determination to avoid her eyes, he glared right back at her. With a growl rumbling in his throat, he mimicked her actions, removing his jacket, hanging it by the door, and towelling himself as dry as he could, but his jumper and trousers clung to him like tar.

"Give me that," she demanded shortly after he was done.

He tossed it back at her with as much force as she'd thrown it at him; perhaps it was a childish gesture, but he didn't care. Unfortunately, she caught it just fine. Her eyes narrowed a fraction, but then she vanished into the shadows again and returned with a log basket, heaving the cumbersome thing with some difficulty. Deciding he'd rather see her struggle, he folded his arms over his chest as she prepared a fire in the small inglenook. It burst to life and illuminated the room far more efficiently than the candles, and Draco could finally see the pictures crowding her walls.

They were what he'd expected; countless images of friends and family, some of whom he recognised and some he didn't. Inspecting a few close by, he realised that some had been doctored with magic. One in particular of Granger, Weasley, and Potter when they were perhaps in Third Year had clearly been taken in Diagon Alley, but it had been altered to depict some innocuous Muggle street. He was unsure why, but it made something perplexing and unnerving stir in his gut.

"Why don't you come by the fire?" asked Granger, sitting down on the sofa in front of the fireplace. "It will dry you off a bit."

"I'm fine where I am," he replied, his tone harsh and defensive.

"Are you seriously going to be that petty?"

He scoffed. "I think that's pretty rich considering you just threw a towel at my head."

Infuriatingly, Granger's lips pursed with mirth. "Quite frankly, you're lucky it wasn't something heavier."

"And, quite frankly, I didn't ask to be here."

"Oh, come on, you're just going to make yourself ill if you stand in the corner all night in damp clothes."

Were it not for the fact that he'd suppressed a couple of shivers shooting down his spine, he would have indeed tucked himself away at the back of the room, as far away from her as possible. But the cold was nibbling at his skin and rousing a tell-tale layer of goosebumps across his arms and chest, and the seductive glow of the fire was far too tempting to ignore. With a huff of aggravation, he surrendered to his body and thrust aside his pride, settling himself on the complete opposite end of the sofa to Granger.

"There you go," she said. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Sod off," he grumbled.

The heat of the flames instantly reached out to him to defuse the chill, and the silence that slipped itself in between him and Granger was also a welcome feature. Wondering if she found it uncomfortable, he subtly glanced at her, relieved when she was staring straight ahead and not at him. The flames seemed to dance across her distracted expression, particularly in her hazel eyes, as they ignited them with all the colours of autumn. He'd never really taken the time to scrutinise her features before (he would never have allowed himself the option a decade ago), but now that he could, he noted her defined cheekbones, the splash of faint freckles, and her thick eyelashes. It felt like he was looking at a completely different person, one he wasn't instinctively repulsed by because of prejudice and preconceptions.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line," she blurted suddenly. "When I came to your house a few times to try and speak to you. I should have respected your privacy-"

"Yes, you should have."

She nodded and swallowed hard. "It's just been quite difficult, not remembering anything, and when I found out there was someone I went to school with living close by, I was intrigued. I just thought it would be...refreshing to speak with you."

He arched an eyebrow at that adjective and turned to regard her properly, noticing that her hands were fidgeting anxiously in her lap. "Refreshing?"

"Well, yes. All I've heard since I woke up from the coma is how intelligent or amazing or perfect I was, so hearing that someone hated me was an interesting development, and I was curious." She hesitated and finally twisted her head to meet his eyes. "No one can be that perfect, surely."

Draco exhaled loudly and contemplated his next words very carefully. "My hatred for you in school had nothing to do with your character, Granger."

"It didn't?"

"No, it was because of your..." He hesitated and thought of the word blood, but he couldn't very well say that. "It was because of your status."

Her brow furrowed. "My status?"

Pausing again, he knew he needed to handle this situation cautiously and shrewdly. He silently cursed himself for not even bothering to skim over the details in the folder Potter had given him, but he'd never expected to be trapped alone with her with no reasonable excuse for a hasty escape. All he had predicted were a few fleeting encounters in Hugh Town, but evidently, fate had decided to ridicule and punish his imprudence.

"Well, it was quite an elitist school, historically," he explained.

"Yes, I thought as much, with it being a boarding school."

He suppressed any indication of the relief that he felt. "Right, and my family and I were extremely elitist and didn't believe that people like you should be allowed to attend the school."

"People like me? You mean, because I'm not upper-class?"

"Yes. I hated you because I believed you were beneath me."

"Oh," she mumbled, and then again, quieter. "Oh."

The silence that invaded the room this time was different; heavy and awkward, even to Draco who thrived in silence. Granger's mouth twitched with something between offence and uneasiness, so he shifted his attention back to the crackling fire, waiting for her to respond. He detested having to revisit his past like this, but at least her amnesia meant that he didn't fully have to confront the child he'd been. If nothing else, perhaps this would persuade her to evade him in the future.

"Are you..." she started tentatively. "Do you still feel that way?"

He thought about lying; keeping her at a safe distance would be substantially easier if she thought he was some bigoted prat, but he didn't want Granger divulging that facade to the entire island. Truth be told, he didn't really want Granger believing it either.

"No," he said finally. "No, I don't."

"Then why have you been so reluctant to speak to me?"

"Well, there was more to it than just your status; your friends despised my friends and vice versa. Believe me, if you remembered what I was like, you wouldn't want to be in the same room as me, let alone speaking with me."

"Was it really that bad?"

"Yes. And that's why it's a waste of time asking me questions about what you were like in school. I didn't know you because I didn't want to know you. I wanted nothing to do with you."

"I see," she sighed, her hands fiddling anxiously again. "Well, that's a shame. I was hoping you might tell me something...I don't know. I guess something a little controversial about my behaviour in school."

"No, you were infuriatingly accomplished in every class and got the highest marks in pretty much everything. Also, by all accounts, you were a proper goody-two-shoes. All the teachers adored you," he said, aware of the hint of resentment in his voice. "You were about as controversial as a glass of water."

Her eyebrows dropped and her shoulders slumped with disappointment. "Oh. Well, I guess-"

"You did have a bastard temper on you, though," he interrupted. "You fucking hit me once."

Her eyes widened and brightened with surprise. "I did?"

"Yes, you smacked me right across the face," he confessed, lifting his hand to his cheek. "It bloody hurt, too."

"No way," she whispered, scooting a little closer to him. "And I didn't get expelled for that?"

"I didn't tell anyone."

She smiled at him. "Did you deserve it?"

"Probably," he said, his eyes lingering on her smile for a second.

"Why did I do it?"

The memory of Buckbeak flashed across his conscience. "I can't remember," he lied quickly. "I think I called you a name or something. You also used to correct me all the time in lessons, which pissed me off."

"Yes, I'm sure that wound you up considering you believed I should be inferior to you," she said, nervously tucking some of her hair behind her ear before she continued. "But it was mainly my class that you hated?"

"Yes."

"And you no longer feel that way?"

"I told you that I don't."

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. "So then, why can't we have some sort of friendship now?"

Draco's head jerked up at her suggestion and he realised how much closer she was sitting to him now. Much too close. He straightened his back to force some space between them, scolding himself for ever allowing the conversation to become so casual and easy. The fire released a loud crack and some angry sparks, and that sound seemed to snap him back to reality like Granger's cold smack across his face.

"No," he said plainly. "No, that's not going to happen."

"Well, why not? You said you don't care about class-"

"And I don't, but I don't want a friendship with anyone, regardless of their status."

Granger frowned intensely at him. "Come on, that's ridiculous. You can't just isolate yourself from everyone just-"

"Why can't I?" he challenged. "When enough people disappoint and deceive you, and when you do the same to them, it's easier to keep everyone at arm's length, if not further."

"Easier, but very lonely."

"Well, it's suited me just fine for seven years, and I don't intend to change that," he said, scowling as she studied him like she would an injured kitten. "And you needn't look at me with that pitying face, Granger. I prefer it, and if you had your memories back, you would say I deserved this, if not something a great deal worse."

"I just think that-"

"Look, my social life, or lack thereof, is none of your fucking business," he snapped severely. "I neither need nor want your advice in any form. So drop it."

The nuances of her face tightened with annoyance before she looked away from him and shuffled herself back to the edge of the couch. "Fine, we'll go back to you being a tosser then."

"Good."

The silence was back; piercing and more palpable than the one before it. It was so thick that even a knife would struggle to slice it. They both stared straight ahead, still and defiant, for what was easily fifteen minutes, if not longer. Outside, the violent wind howled and screamed around the nooks and crannies of Granger's home, and the rain pounded against the window panes in an incessant roar. After a while, she abruptly stood up and left the room before coming back a few minutes later holding a blanket.

"I'm going to bed," she said evenly, laying down the blanket beside Draco on the sofa. "You can use that."

He cocked a cynical eyebrow at her. "Don't you have a spare room?"

"Yes, I have two spare rooms, but they're reserved for my friends."

"Back to the petty gestures again, are we?" he retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, apparently we're right back where we started," she said. "And it was you who made that decision."

"Don't be so sensitive about it, Granger. It's not personal."

"Well, it feels very personal to me."

And then she whirled around and left him alone. A few moments later, he could hear the floorboards above his head whinge and creak as she moved around upstairs, presumably getting ready for bed. Kicking off his shoes but keeping on the rest of his clothes, he blew out the candles and spread himself out on her sofa, pulling the blanket over him. The fire's radiance was starting to fade, but it was still strong enough that he could see the faces in the pictures he had noticed before. The countless eyes of the people within the frames seemed to stare down at him critically, so he flicked his attention back to the fire to avoid them.

Yes. Much better alone.

He was still irritated with his earlier carelessness; letting his guard down in front of Granger was not an error he would make twice. With any luck, he would never again be in a situation where it was likely to happen.

Trying his best to ignore the raucous chaos outside, he managed to fall asleep quickly, but he woke up early the next morning. The sky was a deep shade of indigo, and when he glanced at the clock on Granger's wall amongst the clustered photographs, he saw it was four o'clock in the morning. Most importantly, the wind was weaker and the rain quieter, certainly enough for him to make a hasty getaway before another unnecessary encounter with Granger, or, worse, before the storm picked up again and he got stuck here for another unpleasant night.

_Sod that._

He readied himself hastily, not even bothering to fold up the blanket she had provided him. Leaving her house without a backward glance, he headed straight home, passing several buckled and splintered trees on his way. Taking the coastal path because it was the most direct route, he watched the sea as it crashed viciously against the cliffs and he uttered a Shielding Charm to defend his eyes from the salty spray being kicked up by the wind.

When he was finally home, he slammed the door behind him and sighed deeply, grateful to be back in his own territory. He thought about heading straight to bed but, instead, he went to the chest of drawers in his sitting room to remove the folder Potter had given him detailing the information that Granger knew. Collapsing on the sofa that, he would admit, was not as comfortable as Granger's had been, he spoke the three words to reveal its contents.

"Cruithne, Houdini, Ancalagon."

Slowly, words began to manifest on the parchment, and Draco was relieved that there were less than he'd expected; altogether, it was just short of five pages. He scanned a couple of paragraphs about the fictitious names of Granger's teachers and a Muggle university, but he decided to read the rest later after he'd had a decent rest. Turning to the final page, he stared for a while at the empty space waiting for his details, wondering what to write.

"Accio quill."

_Granger knows she smacked me and thinks I hated her because of her class status._

There: simple and straight to the point. Hopefully, that would be his first and final entry in the folder. But he doubted it.


	7. The Thump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: SYML – The War

**~.~**

**Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights**

**~.~**

Chapter 7: The Thump

.

Over the two weeks after the storm pummelled the island and the rest of the archipelago, Draco had seen nothing of Granger. He had ventured into town twice in the last fortnight and even ambled slowly along the seafront to survey the tempest's damage, but she had been notably absent. Almost too absent. As he watched the islanders gather on the promenade to shovel shingle off the streets and clear broken trees from the local parks, he had expected to see her among them. She had always had that look of someone who enjoyed community participation, but apparently not. His eyes had scanned the crowd of do-gooders several times. Definitely no Granger.

On both occasions, he had walked home and slanted his eyes toward her lonely little cottage. He didn't linger too long; he had learned that loitering near her house wasn't a good idea, but, still, he had glanced in its direction and seen no sign of her. Not a shadow, not a light, nothing.

Had anyone asked, he would have bet a fistful of galleons that she would knock on his door the day after he had stayed the night. Hell, he would have wagered a hefty portion of his fortune that she would certainly visit within the first week. But no. And that was good. That was fine. He had told her to stay away; he just hadn't expected her to listen.

This was now his third visit to Hugh Town since the storm and people were still strewn across the beach like seagulls, sifting through litter and driftwood that had been flung across the shore by wind-tossed waves. Many of the buildings that had bore the brunt of the gales still had haphazard boards guarding their doors and windows, but they were now being peeled away like old bandages by the business owners eager to return to their trade. There were even locals with old rags and cloths wiping away the thick salt-crusts that had latched themselves onto lampposts, signs, and bus shelters.

There were at least two hundred people collaborating to clear away the final remnants of the storm's again, he meandered his way slowly from one end of the promenade to the other, hunting for Granger's tell-tale unkempt hair amongst the flock of volunteers. He slowed his steps to sweep his eyes across them once more, just to ensure he hadn't overlooked her. He thought perhaps she'd tied her hair up or donned a hat, so he narrowed his eyes and focused on their faces, but, once again, she was absent.

"Hey, Draco!"

He clenched his eyes shut and grunted. "Miller."

Tim practically bounced over to him, his soaked strawberry-blond hair drooping around his face like a dog's ears. Despite the harsh breeze and persistent drizzle, he was clad in a thin jumper, a pair of shorts, and his usual flip-flops. Draco grimaced at the inappropriate outfit, especially at the sound of the flip-flops clapping against the wet pavement as Tim approached him.

"Don't usually see you at things like this," said Tim. "Are you here to help with-"

"No," snapped Draco quickly. "Calm your shit, I'm just passing through."

"Well, if you're looking for something to do, I'm meeting a hen party at the pub."

"I literally couldn't think of anything worse."

"Are you sure, mate? I had a few drinks with them last night. They seem up for a laugh, if you know what I mean."

Draco arched one slim eyebrow. "A fucking pigeon would know what you mean, Miller."

Tim's laugh was one of those irritating choking laughs that sounded like ripping cotton. "You are funny, Draco!"

"I'm really not trying to be. You can go now, Miller."

"If you change your mind, you know where I am!"

"Yes, desperately trying to hump anything with a pulse," grumbled Draco as Tim walked several paces away. The next words that left his mouth tumbled out before he could really mull over them too much. "Hey, Miller! Have you seen..."

He stopped himself and shook his head.

"What did you say, Draco?" shouted Tim.

"Nothing! Keep walking, Miller!"

On his way home, he strolled past Granger's cottage, walking a little closer to it this time; close enough that he could make out the shapes of her furniture through the windows. But that was all he could see; there was no movement to indicate that anyone was inside.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he stepped over his own threshold, and the silence hovering around his living room was just a little louder than he could tolerate. He contemplated contacting Potter to inform him of Granger's absence, but what would he say? There was no indication of any threat, and he had made it very clear that he would not be babysitting Granger. So, instead, he decided to visit his company office a week earlier than he had intended, if only to seek a distraction.

Moving to the back room of his house to ensure privacy and peace, Draco closed his eyes and concentrated. Although he had Apparated to the office multiple times, the distance from St. Mary's to Gloucester was just over two hundred miles and getting there required a certain level of focus. A few moments and a harsh _crack_ later, he opened his eyes to a completely different setting with deep grey walls and ebony floorboards.

"Draco?" asked a confused voice behind him.

"Hello, Blaise," he replied, turning around.

His old school friend was sat comfortably behind a large baroque desk, strewn across which were several piles of parchment. Blaise twirled an overworked quill between his fingertips and leaned forward, regarding Draco with curious umber eyes. Clad in black robes a few shades darker than his skin, he seemed to blend into his oversized leather chair, but his keen eyes reflected the dim light of a nearby lamp, flickering like a fire in a storm.

"You know you're a week early, right?"

"I was bored," replied Draco. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. It's your company, I just wasn't expecting you. I've already got all the notes sorted anyway," he said, shuffling through some documents.

It was times like these that reminded Draco that his decision to appoint Blaise as the director of sales had been a wise call. About six months after the war, it had not so subtly been suggested by various members of the Ministry that the potions manufacturing company would be better accepted in the Wizarding World if it didn't bear the Malfoy name. Lucius' old business partner, Harold Kendrick, had taken over as the chairman of the company, but when Lucius had died shortly thereafter, Draco had hired Blaise. While Kendrick and Draco were technically the overseeing chairmen, it was really Blaise who managed the day-to-day business, and he did so effectively and shrewdly.

"Here you go," said Blaise, handing over some sheets of parchment. "These are all the figures from the last two months. Kendrick popped by last week and checked it all over. The only thing I really need you to approve is the new shipping-"

"Yes, you can do what you like," Draco nodded, barely skimming over the documents and huffing out a laboured sigh. "This all looks fine."

Blaise's brow furrowed. "You alright, Malfoy? You seem...I don't know...edgier than usual. Sometimes you at least pretend to look over the sales and profits."

"I'm fine," he said, more defensively than he'd intended. "I've just got a bloody headache."

"Hm. Everything okay in the Muggle world?"

"Everything's fine, Zabini."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine!" barked Draco. "I didn't come here for an interrogation."

Blaise shrugged nonchalantly, but his lips twitched with intrigue. "Fair enough. There was something else I needed to tell you, actually."

"Go on then."

"Well, Theo's got a new boyfriend."

"So?"

"So, it's Doyle Jugson."

Draco frowned at the familiar surname, but it took a moment to dig up the memories from the back of his brain. A vague image of a pale, bald wizard with a sharp nose and icy eyes materialised. He'd been one of the Death Eaters that had sporadically visited Malfoy Manor in those dark months building up to the Battle of Hogwarts, although he was seemingly never a linchpin. He had been more of a pathetic pawn; Draco seemed to recall a certain stench of desperation hovering around Jugson.

"I'm assuming related to the Death Eater Aiden Jugson?" clarified Draco.

"Yes, Doyle's his nephew."

"Okay, but so what? Theo and I are both sons of Death Eaters. Your mother might as well have taken the mark, too."

"Yes, but it seems this prick is still into all that crap that we grew out of," said Blaise with a sneer of distaste. "He wrote some not-so-subtle anti-Muggle articles for that bloody right-wing magazine a few years ago. And the Aurors caught him at one of those secret neo-Death Eater gatherings about eight months ago. He got off on some stupid technicality, but the Aurors are keeping an eye on him. The Prophet covered it a little, but it got overshadowed by some weird murder in Knockturn Alley."

"Okay," sighed Draco hesitantly. "Obviously, Theo knows all this."

"He does."

"Then why are you telling me? Theo's a big boy, he can make his own bad choices. I don't see what this has to do with the company."

Blaise frowned and rubbed his chin. "I was considering promoting Theo to assistant director. His work is solid and he knows his shit. I'm just not sure his current relationship is a good image for us. I'm also bloody worried about-"

As if on cue, the door to Blaise's office was thrust open, and in strolled Theo carrying a small tower of papers, his brown hair slightly tousled and his skin paler than Draco remembered. But then, the last time he had visited the office had been back in August.

Theo huffed his fringe out of his green eyes. "Blaise, can you...Draco! What the fuck are you doing here? You're a week early."

"Apparently, he was bored," answered Blaise, shooting another sceptical glance at Draco. "Apparently."

"Well, I guess you can come whenever you want. It's your company; we just run the bloody thing for you. So, how are you? You look...well, you look like a miserable bastard, but what's new?"

"I'm fine," said Draco through gritted teeth. "Blaise was just telling me about your Death Eater boyfriend."

Theo rolled his eyes until they landed on Blaise. "Honestly, Zabini, you are such a sodding snitch sometimes."

"I don't think you can still use the word snitch after the age of fifteen," said Draco. "Unless you're in prison. Maybe you've picked it up from your new bloke-"

"Hey, now hold on, he hasn't been in prison. He's not a Death Eater, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and the Aurors got the wrong idea."

Blaise snorted. "Are you seriously that naive? Why do you always have to pick the shady ones?"

"Well, what can I say?" smirked Theo, shrugging casually. "The bad boys are always the best in bed."

"Honestly, Theo, I'm not happy," said Blaise. "You can joke all you like, but Jugson is trouble."

"Alright, Dad, relax. Last time I checked, it's none of your bloody business. Besides, it's not like we don't have dodgy pasts-"

"Yes, but this doesn't seem like his past, Theo. It sounds very much in the present-"

"Okay, Zabini, I get it. I'll be careful. Anyway, we're just fucking. It's really not that serious."

"Just don't bring him here," said Draco sternly. "I don't need The Prophet writing another article slandering this company."

"So I can't shag him in my office?" asked Theo, chuckling when they both fixed him with strict glares. "I'm kidding! Honestly, I can't help but think that all your rage is just misplaced resentment that I'm the only one getting laid. Well, I know Blaise definitely isn't. You haven't shacked up with anyone in the Muggle world, have you, Malfoy?"

Draco scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't be ridiculous, Theo. Anyway, I'm going home. I'll see you in a couple of months."

"You don't fancy going for a drink?" asked Blaise. "We're heading to the pub in a bit."

Theo's mouth pursed with irritation. "Oh, come on, Blaise. You ask him that every time he visits and he always says no."

.

* * *

.

A couple of days later, Draco headed back into town to pick up some meat scraps for Aetos. It was unseasonably cold for mid-October. The sky was already deepening into a thick gloom before four o'clock, but it was clear and cloudless, revealing delicate stars that barely managed to blink down at him. His breath left his lips in ghostly puffs as he tucked his hands deep into his pockets and ignored the friendly smiles of passersby.

Again, he found himself flicking his eyes here and there for any sign of Granger, although he would tell himself later it was so that he could prepare to sidestep her before she spotted him. Still, something niggled at him, and he decided to walk by her cottage on his way home.

Mrs Fletcher was haphazardly stacking a pile of pumpkins for Halloween when he entered the shop, and he arched a quizzical eyebrow at her. "Struggling there, Mrs Fletcher?"

"These things are bloody heavy," she grunted, placing the final pumpkin atop the unstable orange pyramid. "You don't normally come this late, Draco."

"I forgot some food for my owl."

"Oh, yes, I forgot you have a pet owl. Bit odd, but to each their own, I suppose. You know, you should bring him down to the Halloween fair, the kids would-"

"No," he said simply, quickly grabbing what he needed and heading for the till. "Ready when you are, Mrs Fletcher."

"Coming, dear!" she smiled, waddling her way toward him. "I haven't seen you since that awful storm. I heard you got stuck at Jean's house."

"Bloody gossips," he muttered, his tone exasperated. "And where exactly did you hear that?"

"Jean told me the day after the storm stopped. She said you'd been wandering around in it, you silly man."

Draco glowered at the top of her head, hesitating and licking his teeth before he asked, "Have you seen her since then?"

Mrs Fletcher glanced up at him curiously. "No, I haven't, come to think of it."

Of course, Mrs Fletcher couldn't know his completely justifiable reasons for wondering about Granger's whereabouts, but he still resented the way she looked at him, like he'd said something significant and telling. Once again, he silently cursed Potter for this predicament. He hastily snatched Aetos' scraps off the counter without a parting word and stalked his way toward the exit. His strides were heavy, aggravated, and unnecessarily fast, so when the door was thrust open from the other side, he couldn't slow his pace in time, and it crashed straight into his face.

"Fucking hell!" he roared, staggering back and reaching up to clutch his throbbing nose.

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, Draco!"

Even though his eyes were clenched shut, he knew it was Granger, and he wanted to shrivel up like burning paper. He felt her move to his side to touch his arm, and he immediately shrugged her off, angling his body away from her. Through the fog of his stinging, watery eyes, he could just make out the outline of her indistinct form shifting around him like an erratic shadow.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Granger?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident!" she exclaimed. "I didn't see you!"

"So you just enjoy shoving open doors with all your strength?"

Her tone shifted to defensive. "You walked straight into it; I didn't even open it that forcefully! Here, let me look-"

"Stop fussing over me!"

He was fairly certain his nose was broken and could feel blood dribbling down his philtrum, gathering at the dent of his lips. His entire face was pounding with pain, pulsing around his head like a tenacious migraine. If he could just get away, a quick spell could fix both the pain and his nose, but he could hear footsteps and knew that Mrs Fletcher was approaching, as if he wasn't annoyed enough.

"Here you go, use these," she said, pushing some tissues into his hand.

"Would you two just sod off and leave me alone?"

"Absolutely not, and this is your own fault," scolded Mrs Fletcher. "You were rushing out of here-"

"Are you trying to help or are you telling me off?" he asked, blinking away some of the blur clouding his vision. He could feel Granger trying to touch his arm again. "Right, well this was bloody horrendous, so thanks for that. I'm going home now-"

"Absolutely not!" said Mrs Fletcher. "You need to go to the hospital; your nose definitely looks broken."

"I'll be fine-"

"She's right, Draco," agreed Granger. "You could have a concussion or something."

Mrs Fetcher nodded. "Exactly, so Jean will take you-"

"No she bloody won't-"

"I don't think that's a good-"

"No, no, no," Mrs Fletcher cut off both of their protests. "Draco, you must go get checked over and, Jean, you can take him."

"Can't you take him?" Granger asked and, for some reason, Draco felt slightly perturbed that she seemed just as keen as him to avoid this situation.

"I need to watch the shop," replied Mrs Fletcher, ushering them both toward the door. "I'm here on my own tonight. Right, come on, that is quite enough arguing, just go to the hospital and get it sorted."

With a gentle push on the curves of both their backs, Mrs Fletcher steered the pair out onto the pavement and grinned to herself when they were out of sight. Behind her, there was a shuffle of movement behind the counter as Mr Fletcher popped his head around the back door, eyeing his wife enquiringly.

"What was all that kerfuffle, Florence?" he asked.

"Nothing, David. Jean just smacked Draco in the face with the door, so I told her to take him to hospital."

"Why didn't you just take him?"

"Well, I just thought it would be better if she went with him."

Mr Fletcher studied his wife with a knowing stare. "I know what you're up to, Florence."

She tried to smother a smile. "I don't know what you mean, dear."

.

* * *

.

Outside on the street, Draco's vision was still misty and his face was still vibrating with agony, but he sucked the cold air in through his clenched teeth and tried to stifle the groan rumbling in his throat. He could practically feel Granger's anxious energy polluting the space beside him and, once again, he questioned why she was just as reluctant as him to be stuck in these circumstances. Surely do-good Gryffindor Granger would take moments like this in her stride. He actually wished he could see the subtleties of her expression to try and gauge what was bothering her, but she was still nothing more than a hazy silhouette.

"Look, sod this," he said. "I'll just go by myself."

"You shouldn't go on your own," she sighed, still sounding hesitant.

"I don't need anyone's help."

His statement would have been far more credible and impactful if he hadn't decided to turn away at that moment and stumble off the curb. Infuriatingly, Granger's hands reached out to steady him and prevent him from completely collapsing to the concrete below.

"You can't even see properly, can you?" she asked, heaving him upright.

"I can see just fine-"

"Oh, save your pride for the gullible. Come on, let's just get this over with. Hold your head back, it will slow the bleeding."

With a growl of discontent, he lifted his chin and cupped his nose with the tissues Mrs Fletcher had given him. When Granger's hand settled at the bend of his elbow, he didn't shrug her off this time, allowing her to attentively guide him down the street. Fortunately, the hospital was in the outskirts of Hugh Town, barely a five-minute walk from the shop. They walked in complete silence for the most part – only interrupted by a few warnings from her about curbs and other obstacles – until they reached St. Mary's Medical Centre.

It was a small building, only one story tall, and it looked more like a large bungalow than a hospital. The Accident and Emergency area was, thankfully, almost empty, with only four other people waiting to be seen. Having never stepped foot in a Muggle hospital before, Draco's nostrils were immediately harassed by the harsh, unfamiliar scents that mingled unpleasantly with the smell of the metallic blood leaking from his nose.

"Here," said Granger, settling Draco in a seat. "You wait there, I'll just go and check you in."

Draco waited until he couldn't hear her footfalls hitting the white tiles before he reached into his pocket and clutched his wand. He kept it concealed and muttered a quick _Epiksey_ , ensuring he only fixed his nose, as Granger would certainly notice if the bruises (that were no doubt beginning to blossom on his skin) suddenly vanished. Instantly, the spell clicked his nose back into place and created a soothing, cooling sensation as the majority of the pain dissipated.

Blinking a couple of times to clear the cloudiness in his eyes, he could finally absorb his surroundings, and his attention went straight to Granger at the reception desk. She looked uncomfortable; his gaze lingered on her twiddling fingers and then shifted down to watch her left foot nervously tapping against the floor. When she turned around and their eyes met, she seemed to pause and sigh, and he cocked an eyebrow at her behaviour.

"They said you haven't been here before, so we need to fill out a form," she said, stiffly sitting beside him. "So, your full name-"

"Why the hell are you acting so fidgety?" he asked gruffly. "It's like you don't want to be here."

"I don't want to be here."

"But why? You were desperate to speak with me a few weeks ago."

Her eyes narrowed with ire. "Don't call me desperate-"

"And you asked me for some silly sort of friendship, remember?"

Her features hardened and she shook her head, spilling her chaotic curls over her shoulders. "Yes, and you said that you wanted nothing to do with me, remember? What did you think I was going to do, beg for your company? I might not remember my past, but I'd like to hope that I've always had some standard of dignity."

Draco frowned and rolled his eyes. "I told you not to take it personally, Granger."

"Well, you don't get to decide how I take things."

"Is that why I haven't seen you around town or at home since then? Because you were having some pathetic tantrum about what I said?"

She paused to scrutinise him intently. "I didn't think you'd notice my absence."

His mouth slammed shut and he averted his stare to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought it looked like her lips creased with triumph. Bollocks. Before he could retaliate with some defence, she was speaking again.

"What's your full name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

She scribbled it abrasively into the box. "Full address?"

"You know where I live. Last Cottage, Pelistry, et cetera."

"I thought it was Lost Cottage?"

"I never bothered fixing the sign."

She regarded him for a moment before she scrawled down some more details. "Okay, what's your date of birth?"

"June fifth, nineteen-eighty."

"Any allergies?"

"No."

"And who's your next of kin and what are their contact details?"

Draco shifted in his seat and folded his arms. "Just leave that one blank."

Her hazel eyes drifted over to him and lingered on his face, gentler than they had been before. "Your mother?"

"Lives abroad. I don't know her contact details."

"What about your fath-"

"Dead," he interrupted bluntly, and he hated that her gaze seemed to soften even more. "Don't gape at me with that sympathetic look, Granger."

"Sorry," she mumbled, nervously toying with a loose lock of her hair. "It's just...my parents are both dead." She stilled and her eyes became hooded and distant. "I don't even remember them dying. How awful is that?"

Draco barely stifled his flinch. Something very visceral and formidable tugged at his gut and it felt dangerously like guilt. He tried to push it away, reasoning that he hadn't been the one to feed her that cruel lie, but it remained in his stomach, sitting there like a tumour. His face was steady though; his facade of indifference didn't falter once.

"It's hardly your fault, Granger," he said simply. "Was that all the questions?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, rising from the chair. "I'll just take this form back."

His gaze tracked her as she walked stiffly back to the reception desk. In particular, he studied her slumped shoulders and slightly bowed head and realised that she was shivering. All the white tiles and soulless furniture in the waiting room seem to radiate their own ruthless chill that felt even worse than the cold outside. Perhaps she'd only intended a short visit to Mrs Fletcher's shop, as she was clad in only a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting jumper that occasionally slipped down her arm to expose the freckled skin of her right shoulder.

"They said it would be about twenty minutes," she said as she returned to sit by his side, still quivering. "Won't be too long."

After a moment of indecision, he shrugged out of his black peacoat and carelessly tossed it onto her lap. "Here, put that on. Your chattering teeth are pissing me off."

Her eyes widened at the gesture, but she accepted it eagerly. "Thank you."

He grunted in response and that familiar, tangible silence enveloped them again, reminding him of that tempestuous night in front of her fireplace. When a toddler began to whimper on the other side of the room, he wished he was back in her sitting room – at least it had been warm and quiet. Apparently, she was also thinking about that night.

"You never did tell me what you were doing, wandering around in that storm."

Despite his instincts telling him to snap some blunt retort at her, he wavered when he noted her arms were wrapped around herself. With a sigh of submission, he said, "I was looking for my owl."

She blinked at him a couple of times, and he didn't know if it was the lie that had thrown her or that he had responded at all. "You have a pet owl?"

"Yes."

"That's interesting. I didn't really picture you as a pet person."

Draco shrugged. "Animals are better than humans."

"I don't disagree with you on that. I've been thinking about getting a cat." She tilted her head to the side. "I get a little lonely in my cottage."

He considered and reconsidered his next question, tossing it around his mind a couple of times before deciding that his nagging curiosity needed to be sated. "Is that why I haven't seen you there in a fortnight?"

A ghost of a smile stole her lips. "As I said, I didn't think you would notice my absence, Draco."

"I walk past your house on the way home from town," he explained quickly. "That's all. Don't tell me, for all I care. I couldn't give a shit-"

"I've been back and forth to Tresco and Bryher. They got hit pretty hard by the storm, so I went with some other volunteers to help out over there and stayed over a few nights."

He nodded knowingly, satisfied. "I didn't think it would be like you to miss out on helping those in need."

"You don't need to say that so cynically."

"Yes, I do."

"You were expecting me to march around your house after the storm to scold you for being such a tosser, weren't you?"

Draco turned to face her properly. "Honestly, yes."

Again, a half-smile seemed to stretch up her cheeks. "Well, I am sorry I disappointed you."

"I'm not disappointed," he fired back swiftly. "You were just never one for listening to people who told you to bugger off."

"Well, it was all for nothing, because here we are again anyway. At least I got to smack you in the face again, I suppose. I'm two nil ahead now."

He couldn't smother the dry chuckle that forced its way out of his mouth in spite of his best efforts to do so. It felt like such a foreign sensation; he couldn't even remember the last time he had felt something close to humour, but he already resented it, as he could feel Granger's gaze latch onto him like she was analysing every inch of his countenance. Pulling himself together, he grudgingly lifted his eyes and met hers. Her face was closer to his than it should have been.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you laugh," she said quietly, pulling his coat a little tighter around her.

"Don't get used to it, Granger," he retorted, but his tone didn't have the bite he'd intended it to have.

Her still-smiling eyes scanned him, and her face was close enough that he could feel her breath tickling his chin. He eyed her cautiously as yet another silence blanketed the space between them, but this one felt different – more tense and precarious and begging to be broken. But no words formed in his head no matter how hard he willed them to. When her lips finally parted to speak, they grabbed his attention like a snare.

"Draco," she began tentatively, grazing her teeth across her lower lip. "Would you-"

"Draco Malfoy!"

He was so very grateful to the doctor at the reception desk for calling out his name.


	8. The Exhale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song recs for this chapter: Lord Huron – Way Out There and Tamer – Beautiful Crime

~.~

** Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights **

**~.~**

Chapter 8: The Exhale

.

“You really don’t need to walk me home,” said Draco, for what was probably the fourth time in the last ten minutes. “The doctor said I’m fine. Nothing broken.”

Granger frowned at him. “He also said you might have a mild concussion and that it would be best for you to have someone with you for forty-eight hours.”

“And we both know the chances of that happening are sod all.”

She exhaled a short laugh, which he hadn’t been expecting. “Yes, fine, I completely understand that you being sensible and accepting some help is an impossibility-”

“Because I don’t need-”

“Anyone’s help, yes, I know,” she finished for him, ignoring his narrowed eyes. “I get it, you’ve got the whole aloof, mysterious loner narrative going on, and it totally suits you, Draco.”

He huffed out an agitated breath that caught the cold air and turned to steam. “Don’t take the piss out of me, Granger.”

“I’m only joking. Come on, I made you laugh earlier. I know you find me amusing now.”

“You’re not going to let that go anytime soon, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

He rolled his eyes, but it was half-hearted. The sky was dark despite it still being early evening, but the moon was bright and powerful, bathing everything on the island in a creamy glow. There were no streetlamps in their isolated corners of St. Mary’s, but the radiance of the moon was sufficient enough to guide them. As he subtly watched Granger in his periphery, the light bounced off the lines of her face and glimmered in her hazel eyes, making them look more like burning amber. He averted his attention and, finally, his house appeared in the distance like a waiting sanctuary.

“There it is,” he said. “Honestly, Granger, I’m sure I’ll manage from here.”

“The compromise we reached was that I would walk you home.”

“The word compromise implies that I had some say in it.”

She smiled again. Apparently his snarky comments were just funny to her now. “Look, the least I can do is make sure you get home safe. It was my fault; I hit you in the face.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Well...perhaps a little.”

He managed to swallow down the chuckle that almost betrayed him, but his lips twitched into a slight grin.

“You’re finding me funny again,” she said, practically beaming with triumph. “I saw that look.”

“I didn’t laugh.”

“You almost did.”

He forced as much agitation into the muscles of his face as possible as they slowed to a stop outside his front door. The grass beneath his feet crunched with fresh frost and a biting breeze tossed Granger’s hair around like autumn leaves. She buried her hands deep into the pockets of his black coat, but her cheeks and the tip of her nose were blushing pink in the cold. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her that she could leave now as she had walked him to his house as she’d insisted, but he hesitated. Yes, he was a selfish and cold man, but expecting her to walk home in the dark made an uncomfortable pressure press against his gut.

“It’s dark,” he said finally. “How am I going to know if you get home safe?”

“I’ll be fine,” she dismissed casually. “It’s less than half a mile away, the moon is very bright, and it’s not like St. Mary’s has a high crime rate.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Granger. I know I’m hardly the epitome of chivalry and decency, but I’m not a complete dick.”

She rubbed her lips together and grinned. “So, you’re thinking like only seventy-five percent dick?”

He smirked down at her and didn’t even attempt to conceal it this time; something he would scold himself for later. “Perhaps eighty percent, but I can’t let you walk home alone at night, Granger.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“Because I can’t.”

Granger sighed and crossed her arms. “Well, then what do you propose? Because we both know that your issues with personal space mean I can’t sleep on your couch.”

Draco cleared his throat and shifted his feet. Of course, she was absolutely correct; there was categorically no way she was staying the night in his home. Something very real and loud was yelling at him from deep inside his brain, warning him that inviting her into his home was a dangerous and foolish notion that would certainly create all kinds of complications. It rang around his head like an alarm, and he was adamant that he was going to listen to it.

After nearly five years of ignoring the cautious voice in his head back at Hogwarts, he had learned that instinct was often the sensible part of your soul trying to guide you to self-preservation.

“You can’t stay here,” he said finally, quieter than he’d intended. He’d tried to sound firm. “You can’t.”

“I know, and that’s fine,” she replied, also quietly. “It’s your home, and those are your boundaries, and that is fine.”

“I’ll just walk you home and then walk back.”

“No, you have a head injury. I’d just worry. It would defeat the whole purpose of me walking you home in the first place.”

“Well, I did say it was unnecessary.”

“Oh, don’t bloody start again,” she said, rolling her eyes and rummaging in her bag. “I do have one of these new mobile phone things. Harry gave me it after I woke up. I still haven’t really figured it out, but if you have one-”

“I don’t,” he interrupted.

“Oh. A landline?”

“No.”

She tilted her head at him. “How on earth do you contact people, then?”

“I don’t,” he said, but then he pursed his lips with thought. “Actually, I might have a solution.”

Turning around and opening his front door, he whistled into the darkness of his home and could practically feel Granger’s curious eyes searing into his back. Somewhere in the shadows, there was a rustle of movement, and Draco extended his arm ready. He heard Granger gasp behind him as Aetos emerged, his eyes glowing fiery orange and his wings beating the air like thunder before he perched faithfully on his master’s forearm.

“Oh, wow,” whispered Granger, breathlessly. “He is beautiful. What’s his name?”

“Aetos.”

She took a step closer and lifted a tentative hand. “Can I stroke him?”

“I really wouldn’t, he’s not good with people and his talons could rip...” he trailed off, narrowing his eyes as his pet nuzzled his face into Granger’s palm and made a pathetic cooing sound. “Traitorous bastard,” grumbled Draco.

“He is gorgeous, but I don’t really see how this solves our problem,” she said. “What’s he going to do, pick me up and fly me home?”

“No, but he can track you home,” explained Draco. “He can follow you, and if something happens, he can come back and alert me.”

She arched a sceptical eyebrow. “He must be a very well-trained owl.”

“He is. He can carry messages, he follows commands, and he can track. When you get home, just twirl your finger like this,” he said, showing her the gesture, “And he will return to me, and I will know you got back. If he comes back squawking and agitated, I’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Kind of like my personal guard-owl,” she said, petting Aetos again. “Okay, well I was happy to walk home anyway, but if this gives you some peace of mind, I will happily be escorted home by him.”

Draco nodded and raised his arm, prompting Aetos to take off and soar upwards, patiently circling thirty feet above their heads. Granger lifted her chin to watch the owl for a moment, and Draco studied her, wondering if the glint in her eyes was intrigue or merely the reflection of the stars. Another whining wind toyed with her brown curls and that seemed to break her concentration, bringing her attention back to him.

She chewed her bottom lip for a second and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’ll go home then.” 

"As always, Granger, it’s been a complete displeasure.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t so bad this time.”

“Next time you can get a door smashed in your face and see if you find it fun.”

She smiled at him and dropped her gaze. “Next time?”

Draco clenched his teeth, agitated that he had practically created a trap for himself. He straightened his back defensively and cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you were leaving, Granger.”

“Okay,” she said, lifting her fingers to start unbuttoning his coat. “You can have this back-”

He cut her off with one swift movement; one stride forward and his hand clasping around hers to still her movements. He felt more than heard her breath hitch at the gesture. He realised he’d stepped much closer to her than he’d meant to, and he was towering over her. She was at least a foot shorter than him and her nose must have been barely an inch from his chest, but she timidly tilted her eyes up to meet his. He could feel her small hand slightly trembling, completely lost inside his large one, and he vaguely wondered if he had ever touched Hermione Granger before.

She had smacked him, of course, but had _he_ ever touched _her_? He couldn’t recall a time.

Their faces were close. So very close. Close enough that their ghostly breaths clashed and mingled together in the small space between them. Close enough that he could probably count her freckles and eyelashes given enough time. Close enough that it would only take one of them to lean forward a fraction and their lips would probably touch. That alarm was back, screaming at him to step back and end this accidental moment, but he didn’t. He simply stood there, frozen in place; her delicate, nervous exhales kissing his chin, and his stirring the fine hairs framing her face.

Above him, Aetos called out in a low, echoing hoot, and Draco finally stepped back and released her hand. Blinking a couple of times, Granger regarded him with heavy, hooded eyes and then nervously wrapped her arms around herself, averting her gaze to the ground.

“Keep the coat on,” said Draco hastily, desperate to break the tension, or at least fracture it a little. “It’s cold. You need it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone unusually impassive. “I’ll have to return it at some point, and you’ve made it very clear that any unnecessary interactions with me are nothing more than an inconvenience to you.”

“It would only be dropping off my coat, Granger.”

She nodded stiffly, still staring at the ground. “Right. Okay then, well, I’m going home. Thank you for the coat and...Aetos. I’ll drop off your coat in the next few days. I am sorry for smacking you with the door again.”

Draco sighed, wondering why she was still refusing to look at him. “I know. It’s fine.”

“Okay. Well...Goodnight, Draco,” she said uneasily, and then quickly turned on her heel and marched away with Aetos following her like a faithful shadow.

“Goodnight, Granger.”

He eyed her retreating form as she walked toward her house at a hasty pace, apparently eager to get away from him, perhaps even more eager than he’d been for her to leave. But still, he felt perturbed that she’d avoided his eye contact after he’d stopped...whatever had not happened. Yet, even though nothing had happened, he felt unsettled by it, like it was prickling beneath his skin or sitting trapped in his chest. He wondered how that could be possible; how the ghost of a barely-there incident could haunt him, but he felt it all the same. 

Waiting until she disappeared beyond the brow of a hill, he went inside his home and immediately poured himself a Firewhiskey to warm his cold bones. He lingered in the kitchen for a moment, drumming his fingertips against the countertopand staring into space for a few minutes. Grumbling under his breath to the empty room, he scolded himself for the ridiculous way he had just stood there, barely two inches from her. Just what the hell had caused him to behave so pathetically and absurdly? He was furious with himself. But, at least nothing had happened. Because of course it hadn’t. He would never have allowed it.

His thoughts drifted back to his earlier question: had he ever actually touched her before? Pouring himself another glass of whiskey, he shuffled through the decade-old memories, all of which were, of course, completely lost to her. Many made him wince and some made him flinch, and he was actually grateful that she had no recollection of that dark and detestable side of him. But in all those memories, he couldn’t think of one time he had touched her. Not even an accidental soft graze of fingers. Nothing.

He knew why; back then he’d believed all the propaganda and myths, had genuinely believed all the bullshit about Muggleborns carrying contagious diseases. When he’d called her filthy, he’d truly meant it. Not now. Now he was stood in his kitchen, thinking about how small her hand had felt in his, and how close their faces had been, and how they had almost...

A gentle tapping at the window severed his deep thoughts, and he leaned across to let Aetos in. Apparently, he had beenadrift in hiscontemplation for much longer than he’d realised.

“She get home okay?” he asked his owl, who replied witha low hoot of confirmation. “Good boy.”

It was only when Aetos hopped onto the counter that Draco spotted the small roll of paper grasped by his talons, and his brow furrowed as he reached for it. Unrolling it, he read the single sentence over and over a few times.

_You’re not as bad as you try to be._

Those words irritated him, but he had no clue why. So he downed another shot of Firewhiskey and headed to bed, determined to forget everything that had happened that day. 

.

* * *

.

It was two days before Halloween, and although Draco detested most holidays, Muggle and magical alike, there was something about Halloween that felt familiar and comfortable. Perhaps it was because Halloween was in many ways a bridge between the two worlds, and it sparked a sense of nostalgia in him. Despite his resentment toward the Wizarding World, there was still an ache and longing for many aspects of it. It had, after all, been all he had known for the majority of his life.

When he’d walked to town yesterday, he had uncharacteristically taken his time to study the displays in shop windows, pausing at a few with mannequins dressed as witches. He had done the same routine for the past several Halloweens, and it usually lifted his spirits, but that was not the case this year.

In fact, he was in an absolutely foul mood.

It had been eight days since Granger had pushed a door into his face and walked him home, and he had not seen her since. She still had his bloody coat and had said she’d return it in a few days, so just why the hell hadn’t she visited? And yes, perhaps it had nothing do with the coat at all and had everything to do with her seemingly avoiding him again, but all he knew was that he was agitated and it was because he hadn’t seen her. Which, in itself, was infuriating.

So, if she wasn’t willing to come to him, then he would go to her.

His footsteps were heavy and irate as he stomped his way to her home just after midday. The wind was rather aggressive today, and he could hear the waves exploding on the cliffs in the distance. When her cottage came into view, some of the ire seeped out of him and his footsteps became a little lighter, but he was still determined to confront her. He didn’t even hesitate when he reached her front door and slammed his clenched fist against it three times. His scowl hardened when he heard two voices inside: Granger’s and a male’s.

The door opened, and there she was, wearing tattered jeans and a tired red jumper with rolled-up sleeves, both of which were stained and spattered with what looked like pumpkin seeds. Her hair was pulled back in a rushed ponytail, and for a moment, he noted that he probably looked very formal in his black jumper and black trousers, such a contrast to her. He scowled down at her as her eyes went wide with surprise, but his glare quickly shifted to the flash of movement behind her. Tim Miller was sat on her plastic-covered couch in similarly tatty clothes, surrounded by what must have been thirty or so pumpkins, about half of which had been carved.

“Draco,” said Granger. “What are you-”

“Draco! Nice to see you, mate,” greeted Tim with a broad smile as something whistled in the distance. “Oh, that will be the kettle. Don’t worry, Jean, I’ll make the tea.”

Draco glowered at Miller’s back as he disappeared and then flicked his cold eyes back to Granger, who was once again staring at her feet and nervously fidgeting her hands.

“Are you...” she started quietly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you here for-”

“What the fuck is Miller doing here?” he hissed, not really considering why he was asking the question in the first place.

Her face blanched with shock. “Excuse me?”

“I asked what-”

“I heard your question. I’m just wondering why the hell you would think that it’s any of your bloody business.”

“Come on, Granger, I thought you would have more common sense than to-”

“Than to what? Spend time with a friend? How stupid of me.”

“Oh, please. You’re a woman with a pulse!” he yelled admonishingly. “That’s all he sodding cares about!”

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous!” she shouted, her cheeks flushed. “And even if that were the case, it has nothing to do with you! Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m just trying to warn you-”

“Bollocks! Honestly, you are behaving like an absolute idiot right now. It’s embarrassing-”

“No, what’s embarrassing is that you can’t even see through it-”

“Uh, guys,” mumbled Tim, back in the living room. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes,” said Draco, crossing his arms haughtily.

“No!” argued Granger. “Ignore him, Tim.”

“It’s okay, Jean,” said Tim, grabbing his jacket. “You two obviously need to have a chat, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Tim, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Jean, I’ll call you later. See you both soon.”

Draco practically snarled as Tim brushed past him to leave, but once he was gone, he stormed into Granger’s house and slammed the front door behind him, mainly to prove a point. He sidestepped some pumpkins on the floor and circled back around to scrutinise her, watching her chest heave and her eyebrows knit together with an expression that he had seen plenty of times back in Hogwarts: outrage. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” demanded Granger. “What makes you think for one second that you have any right to come to my house and disrupt my day?”

“I was doing you a favour,” he replied calmly. “Miller’s only ever after one thing-”

“No, Draco, that was completely and utterly inappropriate. And even if you were right, just because someone wants to sleep with me, it doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with them!”

“Look, I know that, I was just-”

“Scaring off my guest! How dare you! I am so furious with you right now!”

He stepped forward. “Well, I’m fucking angry with you, too!”

Her eyebrows shot up high on forehead. “You’re angry with me? What the hell for?”

“You said you would bring back my coat and you-”

“Hold on! You’re here screwing up my day because of your coat? Are you...are you actually serious?”

Draco hesitated and realised he hadn’t considered this endeavour in enough detail. “No, it’s not about the coat-”

“Because it’s hanging up right behind you, so, by all means, take it and then get out of my house!”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT THE SODDING COAT!” he roared. “It’s about the fact that you’re avoiding me! Again! Your first few weeks here I couldn’t get rid of you and now-”

“Now what? Now I’m staying away and you’re annoyed by it? Make up your bloody mind!”

“So you have been avoiding me, then?”

She stilled and exhaled heavily, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. “Well, after what happened last time, I thought it would be wise to give you some space-”

“What do you mean?” he asked, taking another step toward her. “Nothing happened.”

“No, but...you know, something nearly happened.”

Draco sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore his accelerating heartbeat hammering against his eardrums. “Nothing happened, Granger.”

Disappointment flashed across her face for a moment and she gritted her teeth. “Okay, fine, nothing happened. Just get your coat and go.”

“We are not done here, Granger.”

“Yes, we are, _Malfoy_ ,” she said, drawling his surname slowly. “If you are not willing to even acknowledge what nearly happened-”

“Well, go then, Granger!” he shouted, taking another step forward. “Spell it out for me. What the hell do you think _nearly_ happened?”

“No. No, I’m not going to humiliate myself and give you the satisfaction-”

“Come on, I could do with a good laugh.”

She released a frustrated sound that was something between a growl and a scream. “You are so bloody infuriating!”

“I’m not the one talking in fucking riddles!”

“No, you’re the one who is completely unwilling to acknowledge what-”

“Nearly happened,” he said mockingly. “Your vague and nonsensical ramblings are really starting to piss me off.”

“ _I’m_ pissing _you_ off?” she repeated incredulously, her chest heaving again. “I’m pissing you off? Are you actually joking? You insufferable tosser!Oh, I could just...I could just...”

“What? What are you doing to do, slam another door in my face?”

Granger huffed out a haggard breath, her wild eyes darting around like a feral cat’s. With a jolt of energy and speed that could only ever be achieved by someone practically bursting with rage, she reached inside a half-carved pumpkin nearby, grabbed a fistful of its sloppy innards, and hurled them at Draco. He didn’t have time to dodge them, and the orange, sticky clump smacked him square in the chest, some of it splattering against his jaw.

“What the hell, Granger?” he yelled, wiping away some of the mess. “Are you fucking five?”

All the fury melted from her face and immediately her features scrunched up with humour before she began to laugh brazenly. “That – that was hilarious!” she exclaimed between chuckles.

“Granger, stop laughing!”

“You should – you should have seen the look on your face!”

“I said stop laughing!”

She was laughing so hard now that she was slightly bent at the waist and holding her stomach, evidently oblivious to his festering frustration. He knew it was a pathetic retaliation before he even did it, but that didn’t stop him from stalking a few paces closer to her and seizing his own handful of pumpkin guts. Rather than just mimicking her and chucking them at her, he waited until she was within arm’s reach and then pressed the guts down onto the top of her head, smirking when she gasped as a few cold seeds dribbled down the nape of her neck.

“Still funny, Granger?” he asked.

Despite Draco’s intention, there was still a glint of amusement and playfulness in her eyes, and as she tried to dart by him to gather more pumpkin arsenal, he managed to catch her wrist before she could get too far. He wasn’t sure if it was him yanking her arm or if she had slipped on the orange, slimy mess beneath her feet, but either way, she went tumbling down to the floor, and she dragged him down with her. They landed in a heap of jumbled and knotted limbs, she on her back and him on top of her like a clumsy blanket.

Although he had heard a definite thump when she’d fallen on her unforgiving oak floorboards, he could feel her body vibrating against his with fresh giggles. Pushing himself up to lean on his elbows, he was ready to scold her for being so childish and exasperating, but when he lifted his head their faces were close. Again. As though fate and irony were simultaneously mocking him.

Granger hadn’t noticed yet as she was still laughing, her eyes clenched shut, and it gave him a moment to notice the charming way her nose wrinkled when she smiled. But, slowly, her brown eyes blinked open, instantly meeting his piercing, grey ones, and all the mirth faded away, leaving behind an expression that was somewhere between nervous and expectant.

Again, her breaths were tickling his face. Again, he felt frozen in place. Again, all it would take was one of them to lean forward and risk it all.

“This was what I was talking about,” whispered Granger suddenly, her voice tremulous. “What nearly happened.”

Draco rubbed his lips together and frowned down at her. “I know.”

And he was absolutely certain that she had started to lift her chin to finalise the moment that had started over a week ago. Truth be told, he had already decided that he was probably going to let it happen. But it didn’t. A delicate but persistent knocking halted them both, and whoever it was didn’t even wait for a reply before they pushed open Granger’s front door.


	9. The Reprimand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: The Venice Connection – Crash into Me

Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights

~.~

Chapter 9: The Reprimand

. 

With the ghost of Granger’s breath still tingling his lips, Draco’s head snapped over to the opening door. The afternoon sun was low and dazzling, pouring into the room like honey and instantly blinding him. Blinking several times to adjust to the glare, he tried to focus on the small silhouette standing in the doorframe. He wasn’t sure if it was him or Granger who managed to discernthe identity of the intruder first, but they quickly scrambled to stand, tripping over each other’s limbs and slipping on the pumpkin seeds. With an undignified effort, they finally managed to get to their feet and their eyes met for a fleeting, clumsy moment. 

“Well,” said Luna, closing the door and eyeing them carefully. “It’s a bit of a mess in here.” 

“We just fell over,” Granger explained quickly. 

“I guessed as much,” she said, shifting her eyes over to Draco. “Draco Malfoy. Long time, no see.”

Draco folded his arms across his chest. “Lo...Lewis,” he replied, ignoring the look she gave him when he corrected himself. 

“You look well.”

“You look...older,” he offered with a shrug, hearing Granger scoff beside him. “What? I haven’t seen her for nearly ten years.” 

Luna seemed unperturbed and glanced back to Granger, subtly grinning. “Well, I’ll go and make some tea while you two...clean up.”

As if to make a point, she walked through the small space between them and headed to the kitchen, side-stepping the pumpkin mess on the way. Draco glared hard at her back, but it was mostly to avoid meeting Granger’s nervous gaze, which he could almost feel burrowing into his head. Reluctantly, he turned to face her, frowning at the way her eyebrows were knitted together with uncertainty. The silence that hovered in the air between them was a familiar one; heavy and practically vibrating with tension. 

“I...um...” mumbled Granger, toying with a loose thread of her jumper. “Well...I guess...”

“Come on, Granger,” said Draco. “You were always articulate, if nothing else.” 

She inhaled deeply. “I think we should probably have a chat at some point.”

“A chat?” he sighed, shaking his head.“In case you failed to notice, I’m not exactly into the whole chatting concept.” 

“That doesn’t mean that you can continue to avoid it, Draco. You know that.”

“I’m not discussing anything with Lewis eavesdropping from the other room.” 

“I don’t mean now,” said Granger, taking a step closer to him. “I mean in a few days once you’ve figured out what you want.”

Draco scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean? Granger, this was just-”

“What?” she interrupted, instantly agitated. “It was just what? An accident? A mistake? Don’t you bloody dare, Malfoy.You told me yourself that I was one of the brightest students in our school, so stop treating me like I’m stupid.” 

Draco hesitated, his eyes skimming across her glowing cheeks and clenched fists. The way her pretty features creased up with outrage captivated him, and it was at that precise moment that he realised that he was attracted to Hermione Bloody Granger. Despite what had happened (or rather almost happened) twice in the past eight days, it was a sobering and unwelcome epiphany that struck him speechless, like a brutal smack across the face. It all seemed so ridiculous, studying her now with pumpkin guts smeared across her clothes and entangled in her hair, but he felt it all the same; that little spark ofdesire. 

“Are you even listening to me?” snapped Granger. 

Draco sighed and licked his dry lips. “Unfortunately, yes.” His stare lingered on her mouth for a second. “Fine, we’ll have a sodding chat. Come to my house in a few days-”

“You...you want me to come to your house?” 

He moved his eyes down her body and back up to her face once. “Yes.” 

Granger swallowed, probably a little louder than she’d intended. “Okay. Okay, I’ll pop over in a few days then.” 

“Fine.”

She licked her dry lips, too. “Fine.”

He had to brush past her to leave, their shoulders grazing, and that small flicker of attraction ignited in his stomach again like a tenacious flame. With a sudden need for some air, he rushed out of the door and marched home at a brusque pace, wondering all the way just why the hell he had told her to come to his house. Perhaps it was because he knew he would feel more at ease on his own territory, or perhaps it was because Granger’s cottage seemed like the sort of place people just barged into, like Lovegood had. Either way, he was regretting that decision now, but he wasn’t turning back to rectify it. Once he was back in the safety of his own home, Aetos greeted him with a deep, inquisitive hoot. 

“Don’t ask,” said Draco, heading straight upstairs to his bedroom. 

Ripping his jumper off and tossing it into the washing basket, he was about to jump in the shower and wash away the stench of pumpkin when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and stilled. His eyes went straight to the scar on his arm. The dark mark itself had faded shortly after Voldemort had been killed, but at the centre of his forearm, where Voldemort’s wand had pierced his skin to administer the mark, there was a scar. It was only small, about the size of a five pence piece, but it seemed so much bigger to him. It had that pearly shimmer like many other scars, and he detested how it caught the light, winking at him like a cruel reminder. 

There were a couple of other scars, too. One three-inch slash across his left pectoral from Potter’s attack back in Sixth Year, and an uneven, petal-shaped scar from Crabbe’s Fiendfyre at the Battle of Hogwarts just above the curve of hip-bone. All things considered, the iridescent marks staining is pale skin were few and far between, but he loathed each of them and the memories they carried. 

More now than ever before, in fact.

Each of them served as a stark and irrefutable representation of all the reasons he shouldn’t be attracted to Granger. All the reasons he couldn’t be attracted to Granger. 

It wasn’t just inconvenient, it was inappropriate. Perhaps if she knew her past …their past …maybe then, with all the context and history, she could make a balanced, logical decision about whether or not she could look beyond their past lives. But nothing would ever have happened if she remembered everything; she would never have glanced in his direction with anything less thandisgust and suspicion. And that was perfectly understandable. 

Because this wasn’t simply a case of school bullying. He had ruthlessly badgered her with his blood purity bullshit for seven years. They had been enemies on different sides of a very real war. His friends and family had killed her friends and family. His own aunt had brutally tortured her and almost killed her right in front of him. 

He sighed heavily at his reflection and turned his arm so he didn’t have to look at the scar anymore. Perhaps a shower might wash away the strain of the day. 

Xxx

It was later that evening, just a little after eight, when Draco was disturbed by some steady knocks at the door. Naturally, he assumed Granger had simply decided to get their ‘chat’ over and done with, and he tossed aside the book about Greek mythology he was reading, taking a few moments to brace himself. He debated avoiding her, but it seemed pointless to elude the inevitable, so he reluctantly opened his front door. For the second time that day, it was Luna Lovegood intruding on his life, and he didn’t know whether he felt relieved or disappointed that she wasn’t Granger. 

“Hello again, Draco,” she smiled, her tone as airy as it had been at Hogwarts. “Can I come in?”

He contemplated refusing, but instead, he simply shrugged and walked back to the living room, leaving the door open for her and sitting back on his sofa. “Shut the door behind you, Lovegood.”

“No trick-or-treaters?” 

Draco had completely forgotten it was Halloween. “They don’t bother coming here.”

“Because they know that you’re grouchy?”

He scowled at her. “What the hell are you doing here, Lovegood?”

“I think you know why I’m here,” she replied, sitting on the opposite sofa. “To talk about you and Hermione.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, considering how he should handle this situation. It had never really occurred to him that Lovegood would want to speak with him; he had been far too focused on the prospect of a conversation with Granger. He studied her face, trying to gauge her intentions, but her expression bore that familiarlook of emptiness he recalled from school. 

“You know,” he started carefully. “You’re the third Gryffindor that’s turned up at my house in the last couple of months.”

“I was in Ravenclaw.” 

“Same thing. My point is that you people keep invading my space-”

“I’m not here to invade your space,” she said, raking her finger through her white-blonde hair. “I just want to find out if I should be concerned about what’s happening between you and Hermione, and then I will-”

“Nothing’s happening between Granger and me,” barked Draco. “It was just an accident.” 

Luna tilted her head to the side. “I know everyone thinks I’m stupid, but I’m really not.Anyway, Hermione told me what’s happened between you two.”

“What?” he spat.“What did she tell you?”

“That you’ve almost kissed a couple of times,” she said nonchalantly. “That she likes you and she thinks you like her, but you’ve been awkward and difficult, so she’s not entirely sure. And, finally, that she’s going to speak to you in a few days to see what is going on. Did I miss anything?”

Draco glared hard at her, his teeth clenched and his foot agitatedly tapping against the floorboards. He felt similar to how he’d felt when Potter had blackmailed him: exposed andpathetic. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his armsand refusing to look at Lovegood as he tried to gather his thoughts and prepare a defence. But what could he say?

“Draco,” said Luna calmly. “Was she telling the truth? Have you two-”

“You’ve been researching wizards and witches affected by memory charms,” he blurted suddenly, “haven’t you, Lovegood?”

“I have.” 

He rubbed his chin, inhaling slowly. “You ever heard about someone forgetting that they’re a witch or wizard before?”

“Yes, quite a lot actually. It was a common practise for blood supremacists to obliviate muggleborns in the late 1800s and early 1900s as a way to remove them from the wizarding world. It was almost legalised.” 

He paused again, for longer this time. “Were there ever any cases of them then feeling...drawn toward other witches and wizards? Even though they didn’t know they were magical?”

“No, I’ve never heard of anything like that,” replied Luna. “Magic isn’t a magnetic force between magical folk. It’s simply a power within individuals that can be controlled. Is that honestly what you thought was happening?”

“It seemed like a possibility.”

“And how did you plan to justify liking her?”

He snapped his irate eyes over to her quickly. “Stop being so fucking presumptuous, Lovegood.”

“Well, the alternative is that you’re just messing with her for some cruel game,” she said evenly, fixing him with a knowing look. “But I saw you this afternoon and I don’t think that’s the case.”

“It’s impossible,” he argued, shaking his head. “I hated her.”

“’Hated’ is past tense. Have you considered the possibility that without the influence of your blood purity prejudices, you’re simply seeing Hermione for who she is? An intelligent, kind, beautiful woman.”

Draco returned to staring at the wall. “She’s not Hermione anymore though, is she? She’s Jean.”

“And therein lies the moral dilemma,” sighed Luna, her silver gaze distant and pensive. “That’s the real reason I came to speak with you.” 

Rolling his neck and clicking his jaw, Draco rose to his feet. “I feel like I might need a drink for this. You want anything?”

“Do you have any camomile tea?” 

“What do you fucking think?”

“Water is fine, thank you.” 

In the privacy and isolation of the kitchen, Draco leaned heavily against the worktop for a few moments, just for some peace. His spine and limbs ached with frustration and fatigue, and he knew that this next conversation was going to be even more uncomfortable than the one they’d just had. Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone? Had he known then what he knew now, he would have told Potter to shove his deal right up his pretentious arse. Pouring himself a large whiskey and some water for Lovegood, he returned to the living room, avoiding her probing eyes. 

“Come on then, Lovegood,” he said flatly. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Nothing I’m going to say to you is new information, Draco. You know all this already.”

“Then get on with it.”

She took a slow sip of her drink. “Well, we’ve established that you’re attracted to her and... don’t give me that look, Draco, I’m not saying this to make you feel awkward. You told me to get on with it. Honestly, you’re as stubborn as a Blibbering Humdinger.”

A grumble vibrated aroundhis throat. “Get. To. The. Point.”

“The point is you know nothing can happen. Not really. One way or another, she will get hurt, and it’s my responsibility to ensure that she is safe and well.”

“Oh, come on, Lovegood,” he frowned. “I’m not going to hurt her. Potter made me state that in the vow anyway, and-”

“I mean emotionally. I will get her memory back, Draco. If more happens between you two and she begins to fall for you, can you imagine how she’ll feel when she gets her memories back? She’ll feel manipulated, deceived, and betrayed-”

“She’ll feel that way toward you and Potter, too. You started this whole sick, twisted charade-”

“Yes, but we’re her friends; she will know we had good intentions. You don’t have the same history with her. Quite the opposite, actually. Yes, she knows you were a bully, but we both know it is far more complex than that.”

Draco gritted his teeth and glowered at the floor. “I am not that ignorant child anymore.” 

“I know,” she said gently. “And you know...Hermione is very understanding, and a part of me thinks that she might even forgive you when she finds out all of this. But that is a big maybe. This...thing between the two of you is just another complication.”

“So, what exactly are you saying, Lovegood? Because, at the risk of repeating myself, nothing has really happened between Granger and me-”

“Yet,” she interjected, leaning her chin against her palm and watching himattentively. “But let’s be honest, if I hadn’t walked in on you earlier, then-”

“I don’t know!” he yelled.

“Yes, you do. So, to put it bluntly, you basically have two options,” she said, leaning forward with intent. “One, you continue whatever it is you’re doing and deal with the fallout. You deal with her confusion and suspicion and her questioning everything that you did and said between now and when I restore her memories. Or two, you cut it off now. Sever the connection before it becomes something more. Yes, she’ll be disappointed and hurt, but nowhere near as much as she would be.” 

Draco dropped his eyes and took a soothing swig of his whiskey.“You’ve certainly thought about this very carefully, Lovegood.”

“You know I’m right, Draco. I said the same thing to her. Well...not the same exactly, but I advised Hermione that you would hurt her and it’s best that she stayed away.”

“What a compliment,” he repliedbitterly. “Thanks, Lovegood.”

“Draco, this isn’t about you-”

“No, you’ve made that very clear. You haven’t once asked me how I feel about this.”

Her white eyebrows lifted with surprise. “All you’ve done is deny feeling anything for her. What would you have me say?”

“I would have you say nothing at all instead of telling me off like bloody McGonagall on one of her tirades.” 

“I’m not trying to tell you off, I’m simply asking you to be considerate of-”

“Granger,” he murmured, exhaling her name. “Okay, Lovegood. You’ve made your point. I get it.” 

Luna sighed and finished her water. “I hope you do. I know she’s coming to speak to you in a few days and I can’t force you to make the decision I think is best, but I think you know I’m right.”

Draco’s brow knitted with thought. “Are you going to tell Potter about this?” he asked. “Am I going to have to deal with that moron showing up here to interrogate me, too?”

She seemed to consider his question for a moment. “No,” she said finally. “No, I won’t say anything for now.”

“Good. You can leave now, Lovegood. You’ve had your say.”

Oddly, she smiled blankly at him, rose to her feet and headed out the door without a backward glance. Draco suspected it was because she knew she had overstayed her welcome, as she no doubt often did. He took another gulp of whiskey and then released a low, frustrated groan in his living room, and it echoed around the emptiness like distant thunder. He was uncertain whether it was a blessing or a curse that he would have three or four days to mull this all over, but he did know that the thought of seeing Granger again made his chest tighten.

Xxx  
When Granger hadn’t visited by the third evening after Lovegood’s reprimand, Draco had agitatedly sipped on whiskey and read two books, although he couldn’t really say what either had been about. When she hadn’t visited by the fourth evening, he had donned his coat, ready to traipse the path to her cottage and just get it over with, but then talked himself out of it and simply paced around his living room like a caged animal. 

By the fifth evening, he had truly had enough and shrugged back into his black coat, wrapped a grey scarf around his neck, and headed for the door. Winter had swallowed autumn and the air was crisp with cold, the grass frozen and hard as concrete, crunching beneath his feet. The sky was perfectly clear with stars flecked across the darkness like chalk dust on a blackboard, but the biting, freezing breeze was tenacious and wrapped itself around Draco like a cocoon. 

He mulled over what he was going to say to Granger, tossing around words and sentences in his mind. The syntax and semantics of it all seemed irrelevant; he knew what he had to do. Lovegood had apparently located some brain cells since Hogwarts and, while he hated the patronising tone she’d taken with him, he couldn’t deny that she was right. After everything that had happened back in Hogwarts, Draco had made a vow to himself after Voldemort’s defeat that he would consider decisions from a logical perspective. Pride, resentment, and a blind loyalty to his family had been the core catalysts of every poor judgment he had ever made and he refused to be one of those obtuse fools who didn’t learn from their mistakes. 

Life has a habit of brutally repeating all of the bad things; never the good. 

He had barely made it a few steps from his home when he saw her, barely twenty feet away, the moon smothering her in a soft, alabaster glow that almost made her look supernatural. He stopped walking, but she kept nearing him, staring at the ground and apparently too distracted to even hear his breathing. Once again, he was reminded of how different they were. She looked so carefree and blithe in her cobalt-coloured coat and ridiculous purple and white bobble hat and matching gloves compared to his usual dark palette. 

He wondered if her head was just as consumed with what to say as his was, and judging from her pursed lips and lowered eyebrows, it seemed she was. She was only perhaps five steps away when she finally glanced up and noticed him. She drew in a sharp breath of surprise and stilled. 

They both stood there silently, apparently waiting for the other to speak first, but they were both startled by a loud explosion and a spray of green and red light above their heads. 

“Bonfire night,” mumbled Granger as the sparkles dissipated. “I forgot.”

“Me too,” said Draco. 

A wheezing, whistling sound followed by another banging firework followed, and Draco shifted his eyes from the sky to watch the multi-coloured lights dance in her eyes. 

“They do a display on the beach,” explained Draco. “There’s a spot just over there where you can see it.”

“Okay,” she nodded, smiling. “Lead the way.”

It was barely a minute walk toward the cliffs, but as they ambled in anxious silence, it seemed so much further.She walked a few steps behind him and he refused to glance back at her, but when he stopped, she came to stand at his side, her hands fidgeting in her pockets. Down on the beach, a bonfire crackled and illuminated the crowd of fifty-or-so that had gathered to watch the display. Another firework soared upwards and exploded a moment later, its golden and silver sparks reflected in the calm sea.

“That is beautiful,” said Granger quietly. 

Draco shifted his feet and turned to look at her, trying really hard not to stare at the way she nibbled her lower lip. Despite all his certainty a few minutes ago, the words he needed to say to her struggled to form. But he needed to say them. He needed to tell her. 

“Look, Granger,” he started with a sigh. “What happened the other-”

He was interrupted by a sudden and abrupt kiss. Granger’s kiss. It was brief and chaste, more of a lingering peck, but he could feel her nervous trembling all the same. That persistent and visceral pull of attraction was back, tugging at his stomach and encouraging all his logic to abandon him. 

When she pulled back, her eyes were wildly scanning his face, half-terrified and half-hopeful. Her breathing was a little erratic but, again, that was down to her apprehension. Her face lingered close to his, seemingly waiting for him to...do something. Anything. Another firework erupted, but Draco barely noticed. 

“Okay, fuck it,” breathed Draco, grabbing her face to kiss her properly. 

Certainly not a peck this time; instead, a passionate connection of lips, tongues, and teeth, perhaps a little clumsy with haste, but otherwise, everything a kiss should be. With his hands firmly cupping her face, his thumbs slightly digging into her cheekbones, he felt her small fingers wrap around his wrists and, finally, she stopped quivering and released a hushed moan into his mouth. Draco pulled her a little closer so her body was flush against his and he deepened the kiss a little more. He had a feeling that, when it ended, reality would crash down on him like a runaway train, and he wanted to savour as much of it possible. He liked how he towered over her and she had to lean forward on her tip-toes. He liked how wisps of her curly hair tickled his Adam’s apple. Most of all, he just liked kissing her. 

When it ended, he continued to hold her face in his hands, opening his eyes and instantly meeting her wide, beaming ones. Heavy breaths crashed between them and more fireworks exploded around them, but then Granger murmured something that made Draco hesitate. 

“What did you say?” he asked. 

“I said that was a good first kiss,” she said, blushing slightly. 

“First kiss?” he echoed.

“Well...the first one I remember.” 

Like a lightning bolt, the reality and responsibility of that statement immediately collided with him, almost painfully. In one movement, he dropped his hands and retreated back a step, watching as her features darkened with a sense of knowing disappointment.How quickly the atmosphere between them altered. That tingling sense of anticipation immediately vanished and was replaced with something between resentment and discomfort. 

“I can’t do that to you, Granger,” he blurted. “If you remembered our past, you wouldn’t want me to be your first kiss. You wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I..I...” stuttered Granger for a second, but then her expression quickly creased up with anger. “Are you bloody joking?”

“No,” he said shortly. “No, this can’t...this won’t happen, Granger.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“If you remembered-“

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “And does how I feel at the moment mean nothing?” 

“You don’t understand-“

“Yes, I do! Of course I do, because I know who I am! Just because I don’t remember everything, it doesn’t mean I don’t know my mind!” 

“Don’t be pissed off, Granger. I’m doing you a favour, even if you’re too stubborn to realise it yet!”

She threw her arms up into the air. “Oh, well, thank you so much because this feels great!” 

Draco scowled and shook his head. “Look, I’m trying to do what’s right here, Granger-”

“I am sick to death of everyone looking at me like I’m some pathetic, helpless victim,” she said slowly. “That’s why I liked you, because you didn’t look at me like that.” She paused and looked at him hard. “But now you’re doing it, too.” 

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Granger, this was just a stupid mistake,” he said, instantly regretting it when betrayal flashed across her face. “I came to tell you that nothing could happen and it shouldn’t have. It can’t happen again-”

“It won’t,” she snapped curtly. “I may have lost my memory, but I still have my dignity. Don’t ever speak to me again.”

And with that, she spun around and hastily stalked away, heading back to her cottage. Draco watched until she was engulfed by the darkness, and then returned to the silent monotony of his home, though he did instruct Aetos to ensure Granger returned home safely. Despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, the image of her just before he’d kissed her invaded his mind, and his mouth still felt tender. When he retired to bed later that evening, the memory hounded him every time he closed his eyes, and he barely got a blink of sleep that night. Or the next night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Hey all! Sorry for being a bit evil but not sorry. Considering all the craziness going on in the world, I hope you’re all staying safe and well. I am in self-isolation for medical reasons so hopefully my next chapter shouldn’t be too far away. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and reviewing as always! 
> 
> Bex


	10. The Attic Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter:Sleeping at Last – You Wouldn’t Like Me

~.~

Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights

~.~

Chapter 10: The Attic Door

.

Barely a week after his kiss with Granger, Draco still felt tormented by it. Late at night, just before he fell asleep, the image of her, blushing and beautiful, would flash across the backs of lids like an invading nightmare. It would jolt him awake and he would stare at his ceiling, eyes bloodshot and aching, until he was too tired to battle it anymore. After years of successfully burying vivid and vicious memories, locking them away in the deepest chambers of his mind, he had thought that it would be easy to do the same with the memory of Granger. But he was wrong. 

A week of fractured sleep and isolating himself in his home to avoid her was beginning to take its toll. True, he had hardly been sociable before, but he had always been able to leave for a run or stroll when the walls of his home had started to close in a little too closely. The thought of bumping into her in town and receiving nothing but a glance of resentment was not something he was prepared to deal with at the moment.

After sending Aetos off to the Ministry with his check-in card, he decided there was only one way he could really get out of the house for a few hours, although that came with its own headache. Still, needs must, and he neededto escape the claustrophobic pressure in his home. 

For the second time in a fortnight, he grabbed his wand, went to the cluttered back room of his home, turned off all the lights, and closed his eyes to focus. The crack of Apparition was as fierce and sharp as his mood, and it was still ringing in his ears when he arrived at Blaise’s office. 

“Merlin’s fucking balls!” gasped Blaise, and Draco turned just in time to see his friend clutch his chest with fright. “Bloody hell, Malfoy! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Draco smirked as Blaise tried to calm himself. “You’re jumpy today.” 

“I was concentrating on this contract,” he replied between erratic breaths, leaning back in his chair. “Do you have to Apparate in like that? Can’t you just ask the Ministry to grant you access to the Floo Network?”

“I don’t want to be on the Floo Network. I like my peace.”

“Then what are you doing here? Twice in a few weeks isn’t common for you, Draco.”

He shrugged unconvincingly. “I needed to get out of the Muggle world for a few hours.” 

“Why? It hasn’t bothered you for the last six or seven years.”

“I just needed a break.” 

Blaise’s brow furrowed with concern and he rose from his seat, leaning his hip against his desk. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“What? What are you on about?”

“Well, the last time you were here you were agitated and distracted, and now you show up again with bloodshot eyes and bullshit excuses.” Blaise paused and cocked his head. “Are you in trouble?”

Draco folded his arms across his chestand glanced away from his friend’s piercing, black stare. “Look, Blaise-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Malfoy, please tell me this isn’t some Death Eater shit because I swear to Salazar-“

“What? No, of course not! Do you honestly think I would do something that stupid?”

“Well, I would hope you wouldn’t-”

“Blaise, I swear it’s nothing like that,” sighed Draco, making eye contact so Blaise would know he was being sincere. “Nothing like that at all.”

Blaise’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Is it anything you could go to Azkaban for?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

Draco frowned. “No.”

“Because you can’t? Or because you won’t?”

“Both.”

Blaise drew in a long, steady breath, scrutinising Draco with sceptical eyes before he nodded his head slowly. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay, as long as you swear you’re not involved with any dark wizards or witches.”

“I can assure you, I’m not, Blaise.”

“Then I guess that will have to do for now. But you’d better be careful.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Are you done grilling me, Dad?”

“For now. So, you just thought you’d come here and hide in my office for a few hours?”

“Seemed like a decent idea at the time.”

“I have a better one,” grinned Blaise, pushing away from the desk and walking past Draco to the door. He opened it and peered around to the left side. “Hey, Theo! Malfoy’s here and he wants to go to the pub.”

Xxx

Twenty minutes later and the three of them were sat in a cluttered but comfortable pub called The Red Ridgeback located in Bournemouth’s small wizarding district, Nautic Alley. The pub itself was like most the others Draco had visited: tired brick walls and beer-stained floors, the permanent and pungent scent of stale smoke clinging to the battered furniture and a thin layer of dust coating every surface like icing sugar. 

The only real difference between this one and The Leaky Cauldron was the sea view, and Draco absently watched out of the window as some oblivious Muggles drifted by on a small sailboat. Aside from the barman and a couple of solitary old wizards nursing hour-old whiskeys, it was only Blaise, Theo, and himself inside the establishment, and Draco offered Blaise an approving nod as they selected a table. 

“Bloody hell, it’s dead in here,” mumbled Theo, draping his jacket across the back of his chair. “Where did you hear about this place, Blaise?”

“I met a client here a few years ago. It’s quiet.” 

“There’s quiet and then there’s lifeless,” said Theo, shifting his eyes over to Draco. “Are you sure you want to have a drink here? I doubt it will be too busy in London on a weekday.”

“I’m not having some nosy sodding journalist hound me like last time,” replied Draco. “This is ideal.” 

“Fine,” sighed Theo. “I’ll get the first round.” 

Draco waited until Theo was out of earshot before he turned to Blaise. “You won’t tell him? About our conversation earlier?”

“What’s there to tell?” asked Blaise, shrugging indifferently. “You hardly gave me a detailed account of what’s going on with you. As long as you’re not mixed up with any dark shit-”

“I told you, I’m not.”

“And I believe you.”

“Thank you, Zabini.”

“Don’t get all sentimental and Hufflepuff-y about it,” said Blaise. “I’m not doing this for you. For some strange reason, Theo has wanted to have a drink with you since...well, three years ago, the last time you deigned to grace us with your elusive presence.”

Draco scowled at his clasped hands.“It’s not personal, Zabini. I just don’t come to the Wizarding World anymore.”

“And I understand why, but there are other places to meet old friends, Malfoy. Anyway, leave it now, Theo’s coming back.”

Barely managing to juggle the three goblets, Theo returned to their table with beer foam splashing against his knuckles and slopping onto the floor. “Here we go,” he said, passing them their drinks. “Before you whinge about the beer, they’ve run out of Firewhiskey.”

“Beer’s fine,” shrugged Blaise. “Plus you won’t get all emotional like you do with Firewhiskey.”

“You can bloody talk. The last time we drank Firewhiskey you literally used the phrase ‘the good old days.’ But I wouldn’t begrudge you using it now; this does feel quite nice and nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

Draco arched a sceptical eyebrow. “If you say so, Theo.”

“Still the same old Malfoy,” said Theo. “You might have grown into your looks, but you’re still a cynical bastard.”

“Grown into my looks?”

“Well, yes. Don’t get me wrong, you were hardly tragic to look at when you were teenager, but your face was a bit...you know...pointy and sharp...”

Blaise chuckled against the rim of his glass and said, “Brilliant.”

“But you’ve grown into your features now,” continued Theo. “You’re all refined and chiselled. Take it from me, you’re a handsome git now.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” asked Draco. 

“And I’ll tell you who else grew into their face … Longbottom.”

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” scoffed Blaise. “As in Neville Longbottom?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” agreed Draco. 

Theo nodded his head vigorously. “I kid you not. I saw him at the Ministry a few weeks ago and did a double-take. Honestly, if I thought he was inclined my way I might have sent him a dirty owl. Oh, and I’ll tell you who else he was with who also looked fucking gorgeous.Hermione Bloody Granger.”

Draco had been mid-swallow and inevitably choked and sputtered on his beer, spraying half of it across the table in front of him. The confused and surprised voices of Blaise and Theo were muffled and indiscernible in his ears. He wondered how, even when he was miles away in a world she no longer remembered, Granger could still haunt him. 

Xxx

On the last Sunday of November, three weeks after Granger had kissed him, Draco had had enough of the shrill silence of his empty home. His shoulders and back were sore and tight with inaction, so he’d decided earlier in the day that he would go for a much-needed jog. Despite it barely being four o’clock in the afternoon, the sun had concealed itself beyond the horizon and the sky was deep and dark with only a few wisps of clouds to shield the stars. It was crisp and cold, but pleasantly so; the kind of cold that nibbles at your nose and fingertips. 

It was for that reason he decided to leave his wand at home; the chill would perfectly counter the heat from his run, and this was his favourite weather to exercise in. Of course, he was going to avoid his usual route past Watermill Cottage. Yes, he was keen to escape the confines of his home, but he still wanted to steer clear of Granger, even if she was all he had really thought about for the past few weeks. 

Rather than running along the picturesque coastal path, he headed in the direction of Hugh Town and kept to the roadside. About half an hour into his jog, the town came into view, twinkling and gleaming with premature Christmas decorations. Red, gold, and green lights twinkled, reflected in the shallow sea near the beach. Charmingly tacky, just like every year.

He didn’t want to go into town, so he kept to the outskirts, turning down an unfamiliar lane that he thought might turn back on itself and start to lead him home. The streetlamps were few and far between, but they illuminated the way well enough and occasionally revealed a drive leading to a pretty cottage concealed behind some bushes and hedges. It was beneath one of the streetlights illuminating a drive that he saw a figure walking toward him. It was only when he was a few feet away that he recognised Mrs Fletcher. 

“Oh, Draco!” she greeted with a wide smile. “Out for a run?”

“No, I’m baking,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, you are funny! Actually, it’s perfect that you’re here. Would you mind doing me a huge favour?”

“I probably would mind.”

“Well, I was on my way to ask Craig and Jason next door. You know Kerrie Watts who runs the museum? Her two boys are back for the Christmas holidays and I-”

“What do you want, Mrs Fletcher?”

“Sorry, I’m waffling again!” she said with a chuckle. “We’re decorating the house and we could do with a hand putting the lights up on the roof. Poor David’s back has been giving him grief-”

“I’m busy, Mrs Fletcher,” he replied flatly, trying to move past her. 

“Oh, come on,” she persisted. “It won’t take you long-”

“Mrs Fletcher-”

“And we would really appreciate it-”

“Mrs Fletcher-”

“And I’ll give you some freebees next time you’re in the shop as a thank you.”

Draco rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. “Fine,” he spat out. “If it means you will stop wittering.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly. “You are such a sweet boy. Well, follow me. You know, I really do appreciate this, Draco.”

“Yes, I gathered.”

The old woman continued to prattle on about her plans for Christmas and how excited she was to visit her daughter after Boxing Day as they went into her house. Like the majority of the houses on the island, it was a traditional, 16th Century stone cottage with small windows and quaint features. The inside was as he’d expected: comfortable but dated with paisley patterns and a myriad of mismatched ornaments crowding every flat surface. In the living room, Mr Fletcher was decorating a tree that was disproportionately large for the small space. 

“Draco!” he welcomed with a grin similar to his wife’s. “Florence, where on earth did you find him?”

“He was running on the lane. Although, he made a funny joke about how he wasn’t running, but baking!”

Mr Fletcher laughed heartily. “That is so typical of your humour, Draco! Oh, you are funny.” 

Draco immediately regretted stepping over the threshold, but it was too late. “Yes, hilarious,” he grumbled. “Let me get on with it, then.”

“He’s going to help with the roof decorations,” said Mrs Fletcher.

Mr Fletcher’s mirth faltered for a brief moment, and he tilted his head curiously at his wife. “Florence, have you-”

“Right, come on then, Draco, I know you’re in a rush,” she said quickly, ushering Draco toward the stairs. “If you head up there, the ladder is already up so you can get to the attic. The lights are there already, and then you just need to use the skylight window to access the roof. Okay?”

Draco slanted his grey eyes at the woman, wondering why she was suddenly so eager for him to hurry, but he was hardly going to ignore the opportunity to elude more of her nattering. “Whatever,” he shrugged, heading for the stairs. “I hope you’re not too picky about placement, Mrs Fletcher, because I intend to get this over and done with quickly.”

“We’re just grateful you’re doing it, dear!”

As Draco ascended the ladder, determined to complete the unwanted task as quickly as possible, he thought he could hear the old couple whispering behind him, but he paid them little attention. The attic itself was spacious but cluttered with dusty antiques and countless boxes that were clumsily organised and towered precariously like a toddler’s building blocks. Six skylight windows welcomed in the iridescent glow of the moon, which lit up the lacy cobwebs crowding the corners and made them look more like delicate bunting. One of the skylights was already innocuously propped open and a small stack of boxes waited nearby with tangled Christmas lights seeping out of the top like tentacles. 

He moved toward them, deciding that if it took him longer than five minutes to untangle the wires then the Fletchers would have to put up with an ugly Christmas display, but then he heard a shift of movement above his head and stopped. Slow, steady footfalls drummed against the roof and he tracked the sounds to the open skylight. A pair of scuffed work boots appeared first; then black, dirty jeans; and next, a dandelion-coloured, knitted jumper that looked thicker than most winter coats. And then, finally, her. Granger. Pink-tipped nose, rosy cheeks, bushy hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail with countless loose strands falling around her face and shoulders like a tawny veil. 

She didn’t notice him at first as she brushed some dirt off her knees, but then she lifted her chin and spotted him, her breath catching for a moment in her throat and her body stiffening with fright. Seeing a man dressed in dark clothes in the shadowy gloom of an attic was hardly good for anyone’s heart. However, her alarmed features quickly hardened into a defensive and agitated expression, and she folded her arms across her chest. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?” she asked, her tone sharp and clipped. 

“What are you doing here?” he shot back 

“The Fletchers asked me to put up some Christmas lights on their roof-”

“Same. They didn’t tell me you were up here or I wouldn’t have-”

“You wouldn’t have what?”

He huffed out an irate breath. “You don’t need to get so shitty with me, Granger, I didn’t know you were here.” 

Her mouth thinned into a harsh line. “Well, now you do.”

“Yes, what a fucking wonderful surprise,” he said drolly. “Really top-notch.”

“Your bloody sarcasm is unnecessary!” 

“So is that look you’re giving me, like this is somehow my fault!” 

She moved her hands to her hips and tilted her head. “Perhaps not, but the last time we saw each other-”

“Don’t bother going there, Granger, you’ll just get pissed off and-”

“I’m already pissed off!” 

“I can see that! But it’s not like I came here to piss you off!”

“Well, no one is forcing you to stay, Malfoy!”

“Do you know what? That is a fair point and I am done with this bullshit that you are-”

They both froze and fell silent when they heard a thump behind them and their eyes searched the room for the source of the noise. 

“It was just the attic door closing,” said Granger after a moment. “Probably the wind, I thought you were leaving.”

“Bloody right I am,” he retorted, heading over to the hatch and giving the handle a tug. But it didn’t open. He tried again. “What the hell? It’s locked.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m telling you, Granger, it won’t open!”

She strode over purposefully and gestured for him to move aside before she attempted the same, yanking at the handle and rattling it several times. “It is locked.”

“I bloody told you so,” grumbled Draco. 

“What are you? Nine?” she snapped, knocking against the attic door a few times. “Mrs Fletcher! Mrs Fletcher, are you there?”

“Hello?” replied a muffled voice. “Are you okay, Jean?”

“The door is locked, Mrs Fletcher.”

“Oh dear, it gets stuck sometimes. I’ll have to ask David to get some tools to fix it.”

“Okay. Is there anything I can do from here?”

“You’ll just have to be patient, dear! The tools are in the shop in town.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course they bloody are.”

“How long do you think that will take, Mrs Fletcher?” asked Granger.

“Not too long, dear, about an hour.”

“An hour? Mrs Fletcher, is there no way that-”

“If you carry on putting up the lights with Draco I’m sure the time will just fly by, sweetheart! I’ll leave you to it!”

Draco chuckled humourlessly. “This is so fucking typical.” 

“Stop being so scathing,” said Granger, frowning at him. “It’s hardly her fault.”

“Oh, you reckon? You think it’s just a coincidence we’re stuck up here because of that...” he paused to raise his voice and direct it at the hatch. “...Meddling old woman?”

“You are so rude! I’m sure she is-”

“And why should it take an hour when it’s barely ten minutes to town in the car? Honestly, Granger, you are far too trusting of people.”

“And you are far too cynical of them,” she fired back, exhaling loudly as she moved away from him. 

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To put the rest of the lights up.”

Draco hesitated and chewed his tongue before he asked, “Do you need help?”

“I don’t need anything from you,” she said quickly, but she lingered by the skylight for a moment. “But...but if you want to contribute so we can get it done faster, then by all means.”

With that, she grabbed some more lights and lifted herself back up through the skylight and onto the roof, and Draco waited a few moments and looped some lights around his arm before he followed. The Fletchers’ roof was flat enough that he barely needed to adjust his balance, and Granger had evidently already completed the majority of the task. Predictably, she had organised the display with a perfectionist’s attention to detail. 

Granger was near one of the two chimneys, meticulously placing the lights in specific and accurate patterns. He noticed that she glanced in his direction, but she immediately returned her attention to the lights when she realised he was watching her. Sticking to the opposite side of the roof, he started to set down his own lights. 

“What are you doing?” asked Granger.

Draco looked up and cocked an eyebrow at her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re placing them wrong.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have missed the weekly newsletter about the extremely precise and correct way to hang Christmas lights.”

Even with the distance between them, he could see her nostrils flare. “You’re not following the pattern I started.” 

“Granger, I really couldn’t give a shit, I just want to get it done.”

“But you might as well do it properly if you’re going to do it all.” She paused and lowered her voice. “But I suppose it’s very much your prerogative to start something and not see it through.”

Draco’s jaw clicked and his brow creased. “I heard that, Granger-”

“I meant you to, Malfoy-” 

“And you were the one that stormed off, so don’t talk to me about not seeing things through-”

“Stormed off?” she echoed. “I simply walked away because you said-”

“I know what I said, Granger, I was there.”

“Yes, you certainly were, and...would you stop placing the lights like some restless, heavy-handed child and just follow my pattern?”

Draco knew it was childish, but he purposefully laid out another few lights in a slapdash order. “No.” 

With a noise caught somewhere between a growl and a huff of indignation, Granger marched over to him and snatched the lights out of his hand, but her stance was still evasive and wary around him. “I’ll just bloody do it. Go away!”

He knew it would probably be easier to head back to the attic and leave her to it, but he didn’t. “No, I think I’ll stay right here, thank you.”

“You sure you’re not tempted to jump off the roof and try your luck?” she goaded, fixing his disorganised lights. “Because I would enjoy watching that-”

“Careful, Granger, that light looks about a centimetre out. You wouldn’t want to give yourself a nosebleed-” 

“I’m starting to understand why I smacked you in school. You really are just an incorrigible, supercilious prat and-”

Draco scoffed. “Stop trying to patronise me with your big words, Granger. Unlike Potter and Wea-Williams, I’m not intimidated by a thesaurus.” 

“I think it’s extremely hypocritical of you to call me patronising.”

“Would you prefer pedantic?”

“I would prefer you just buggered off and let me...Are you bloody laughing at me?”

Draco hadn’t realised a grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth until she commented on it. Apparently, he was amused. “No,” he replied after a moment, studying her with heavy eyes. “You just haven’t changed much. Always had to have the last word.”

Her features softened slightly as she continued to place the lights. “I’ll just have to take your word on that,” she said. “Did we...did we argue a lot then?”

“Quite a lot, yes,” he said. “Potter and Williams, as well, but you could hold your own the best. You gave as good as you got.” He paused and caught her inquisitive gaze. “You were certainly never dull, Granger.” 

“I wish I could remember,” she mumbled. 

“I’m glad you don’t.” 

Draco hadn’t really intended to say it aloud, and he didn’t like the way she stilled her movements and lifted her head to scrutinise him. Her hazel eyes stared, transfixed, slightly shielded by her long lashes, and she rubbed her lips together like he was a question with no conceivable answer. Of course, such a concept would infuriate her, but it would also fascinate and intrigue her. 

“Come on,” said Granger. “It’s getting colder. Help me finish this properly and then we can wait in the attic.”

For the next thirty minutes, they completed the Christmas display in an absolute and irksome silence. Only the low murmur of the distant waves and the occasional hum of a car interrupted the grating peace, so Draco was careful to ensure he duplicated Granger’s pattern, if only to avoid her having to correct it and extend the discomfort any further. When they finished and Granger critically surveyed the final result, she offered him a nod of approval and a slight flicker in her stern countenance, but it quickly vanished. 

They both headed back to the attic, Draco closing the skylight behind them, but the chill had invaded the room and their spectral breaths clouded the air. Granger sat down on a couple of boxes, and Draco momentarily eyed a box not too far from hers before he decided to sit on one a few feet away. The silence was thicker now that they were inside; only the occasional creak and groan of the old house shattered it as they both sat there, looking at everything but each other. 

“Thank you,” said Granger suddenly. “For helping with the lights.”

“It’s fine.”

Silence again. 

“You must be cold,” she said. 

“I’m fine.” 

More silence for a few unbearable minutes. 

“Look,” sighed Draco. “Granger, I-”

“Are you opposed to the idea of...the idea of us because of the class prejudices you told me you had?”

“What? No, I told you I don’t believe that shit anymore.” 

She inhaled deeply and fidgeted. “Then why?”

“I told you why,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him. “You don’t remember everything-”

“But you’ve told me that we didn’t get along-”

“It still feels wrong. Like I’m taking advantage. If you remembered-”

“But I don’t, and even if I did, I feel like I could forgive some petty little squabbles we had when we were children.”

A memory of calling her a Mudblood ignited like a spark in his mind and he clenched his eyes shut. “One day you might remember and feel differently.” 

“But that logic is so flawed,” she said, her tone familiarly studious. “Besides the fact that the majority of amnesia cases rarely recover their memories after a few weeks, I would remember everything that’s happened since. I would remember your protestations and warnings...” She trailed off and licked her lips. “And I would remember you as you are now.”

“What? An incorrigible, supercilious prat?”

“Yes, but apparently one I like,” she said, blushing slightly. “Despite your best efforts to dissuade me from doing so.”

That visceral and tenacious urge to kiss her was back, throbbing in Draco’s chest, but he tried to stifle it. He watched her as she rose to her feet, pacing back and forth and rubbing her arms, he assumed in an effort to ward off the cold. Her cheeks were still pink, but if it was from embarrassment or the November ice, he didn’t know. What he did know was that his efforts to smother his urge to kiss her were unsuccessful. 

“I’m no good for you,” he blurted, also getting to his feet. “Anyone on this island will tell you that, Granger, and I know Lewis told you that, too. And they’re right. If you could remember-”

“But I don’t!” she exclaimed. “I don’t remember and I don’t care what you were like back then. Not really.”

“For fuck’s sake, Granger, I’m trying to-”

“To do me a favour,” she finished for him, rolling her eyes. “Except you’re not doing me a favour at all. You still have yet to disclose exactly how you feel about me.”

Draco hesitated for longer than he should have done. “That...that doesn’t matter, Granger.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Granger-”

“Are you attracted to me, yes or no?”

Draco snapped his stunned eyes up to her, but despite the brazen question, her eyes were fixated on the floor and her face was practically burning with a glowing blush now. Her lips were slightly parted and she looked wonderfully breathless, as if she herself was stunned by the question she had just asked. He took one step toward her and a sliver of his resolve seemed to wither away as he did so. 

“Draco, are you attracted to me or not?”

Fuck, yes.

Another step.

“Granger-”

“It’s a straightforward question,” she said, her voice hitching at the end. “Yes or no?”

Obviously.

He took another step closer.

“Granger-”

“Just be honest and tell me-”

“Granger,” he rasped out, and she must have realised that he was close to her now. He lifted his hand to brush the wayward strands of hair away from her face. “Would you just let me answer the fucking question?”

He shut his eyes and dipped his head, ready to seal the inevitable and firmly kiss her tempting lips, but it didn’t happen. The soft but firm pads of her fingertips were pressed against his mouth, preventing his advance, and when he opened his eyes, hers were hooded but defiant. With one fluid gesture, she grazed her thumb across his lower lip and cupped his chin, holding his face so he had no way to elude her gaze. 

“You don’t get to kiss me again and then change your mind in a couple of minutes,” she whispered, her breath feathering against his mouth like a cruel taunt. “Make a decision and stick with it. Either take a step back and keep your distance, or...” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Or say ‘fuck it’ again and kiss me.” 

Draco’s silver eyebrows shot up on his forehead and the muscles of his face went taut with shock, but his expression quickly melted into something that might have been mistaken for affectionate amusement. His smirk stretched up his cheeks when her lips curled into a reluctant, captivating smile, and he was momentarily engrossed by the appealing way her nose creased. He pecked a brief kiss against the pad of her thumb and then reached up to pull away the hand that had blocked him before.

“Fuck it,” he murmured, and kissed her much harder than he had the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Apologies for the long wait! I may be isolating but I am still fairly busy, but I made this chapter a fair bit longer as way to apologise! Hope you liked it and you’re enjoying the fic so far.  
> Thank you for reading and reviewing – I am blown away that this has over 2000 reviews already so thank you so much!  
> Bex


	11. The Nightcaps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Haux - Riccochet

~.~

Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights

~.~

Chapter 11: The Nightcaps

.

Draco liked the way Granger leaned into him like she was trying to melt into his body or fold around him like a blanket. Her fingertips traced gentle, random patterns against the sensitive skin tucked behind his ears and her nails sometimes softly scratched the border of his hairline, and he liked that, too. Pushing his weight into her small frame, she pushed back and sighed into his mouth, which he liked very much. But, most of all, he liked the way she kissed him; the way she licked and sucked and nibbled at his lips, sometimes tentatively, sometimes brazenly.

Her body heat was a welcome sanctuary in the harsh chill of the attic and he felt like he was collapsing into her warmth. She enveloped him completely, like a cocoon, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, digging his hands into the sway of her back to gather her closer and kiss her harder. The fact that it was Granger he was kissing seemed like a forgotten issue, like a distant alarm he had become accustomed to and was now practically indistinguishable from the ringing in his ears.

He could have kissed her for hours but, inevitably, all good things must come to an end.

Their moment was ended by a grating scratching sound behind them, and they both paused their busy mouths to glance at the attic door just as Mr Fletcher shoved it open, popped his head up, and looked around.

"I've fixed it, you two! Are you both..." He trailed off when he spotted them and awkwardly averted his eyes when he realised what he had interrupted. "Oh, uh, sorry! I'll um...I'll just wait downstairs."

With evident desperation and discomfort, Mr Fletcher disappeared out of sight, and Draco slanted his eyes back over to Granger as her face scrunched up with a suppressed chuckle and her cheeks glowed red. Downstairs, Draco clearly heard Mr Fletcher say to his wife: "Okay, Florence. I owe you a tenner. You were right."

"I bloody told you she was a meddling old woman," said Draco, breathless and low.

"Hm," sighed Granger. "You did. But, if anything, you should probably thank her."

"Not bloody likely."

The corners of her mouth fell and she looked away from him. "We should get out of this attic."

Draco barely had a chance to nod his agreement before she was turning away from him and hurriedly descending the ladder, and he immediately missed her body heat. Following closely behind, he watched half-amused as she approached the Fletchers, oblivious to her crimson cheeks and slightly tousled hair. Her voice was raspy and hushed with mortification and nerves as she explained that the lights were ready, and Mrs Fletcher's smug smile only seemed to grow with each syllable Granger spoke. As Granger said her goodbyes to the old couple and headed back toward him as he hovered by the front door, Mrs Fletcher flicked her eyes over to him and waved gleefully.

"Thank you for your help, Draco!" she beamed. "See you soon!"

"Hopefully not too soon," replied Draco dryly as he held open the door for Granger.

"I hope you both enjoy the rest of the evening!"

Draco hastily closed the door, but he had heard the knowing delight in Mrs Fletcher's tone and he made a mental note to avoid the supermarket for a few weeks. Granger was already at the end of the drive, awkwardly lingering beneath the streetlamp, the light enveloping her like a halo. Approaching her, he watched the way she agitatedly shuffled her feet and defensively wrapped her arms around herself, like she was preparing herself for his inevitable renegation or denial, and he frowned at her evident apprehension.

"So..." muttered Granger. "Um, do you want to...um..."

"Granger, stop looking so anxious," he grumbled as he joined her beneath the light.

"I just...I just want to-"

"Granger, I'm not going to piss all over your fire if that's what you're all jittery about," he said, reaching up to grab her chin so she would lift her gaze from the ground. "I meant what I fucking said, okay? I might be a cold bastard, but my words are never hollow."

Her eyes lit up a little, turning amber and iridescent in the glow of the moon. She learned forward on her tiptoes and tentatively pecked his lips, as if to check that he'd been sincere, and when she pulled back, she was smiling.

"Satisfied?" asked Draco.

"Apparently so," said Granger. "Now what?"

Draco licked his teeth and paused for a moment before he said, "Come back to my house."

Granger's eyebrows shot up high on her forehead and she took a step away from him, her expression contorted into one of indignation. "Excuse me, Draco, but a couple of kisses certainly does not mean-"

"Take a breath, Granger," he smirked. "Not like that. Just for a drink, and then I'll walk you home."

"Most people go for a drink in the pub."

"It's Sunday and out of tourist season. Everything's shut by ten. Or we can have a drink at your house if that would make you less...edgy."

"I am not edgy!" she snapped defensively. "I just... I'm being sensible. You could be one of those charming, enigmatic serial killers for all I know."

Draco's smirk stretched. "Well, I'm not a serial killer, but I appreciate your comments about me being charming and enigmatic, Granger."

"That's exactly the sort of thing a serial killer would say."

"Very well, Granger. I can just walk you home and we can leave it for another day, if you'd prefer?"

The clash of intrigue and uncertainty that battled across her features reminded him of countless moments in Hogwarts, and he didn't know whether that realisation made him feel nostalgic or unnerved. It emphasised just how differently he had looked at her back then, with nothing but revulsion and loathing, and he didn't know whether it made him feel haunted by the memory of his youth or if it merely served as an assuring reminder of just how much he had changed. Either way, he couldn't deny how enthralling she was to him now. How different and yet completely unchanged she was, and she had no idea.

"Okay," she said finally. "Let's have a drink at your house then."

"You've decided I'm not a serial killer?"

"I've decided nothing about you yet-"

"Except that I'm charming and enigmatic."

Her lips pursed playfully. "You're also completely incorrigible."

"So are you," he fired back. "Are you coming to mine, then? Or would you prefer to continue loitering outside the Fletchers'? Mrs Fletcher has been watching us out the window for the last two minutes, by the way."

"Okay, let's go," she said, and they began to walk side by side. "Although, I feel it's fair to warn you that if you are a serial killer, I've been taking self defence and kickboxing classes at the community hall."

"Of course you have."

"Don't mock me."

"I wouldn't dare, Granger. You might beat me to a bloody pulp."

"I'm beginning to understand why I punched you in school."

A throaty chuckle rumbled through Draco's mouth. "And now look at you. Cornering me in an attic and unable to keep your hands off me."

"Oh, please," scoffed Granger, but her eyes were glinting. "You were the one who...you know..."

"Kissed you?" he finished. "You know that 'kissing' is not a bad word, Granger."

"I know. I'm just making a point."

"A redundant one," he said, slanting his eyes sideways to fix her with a bold look. "I am very aware that I kissed you, Granger, and I intend to again."

He heard her breath catch in her throat and he grinned as she glanced at him from underneath her lowered lashes, puckering her lips to smother a coy smile. The temptation to kiss her right there and then was a familiar one, but he decided that would be too predictable and shoved it to the side. For now. It was enough to witness her like this; tentative but trying to stifle any hint of indecision that might betray her. Apparently, she was oblivious to the fact that when she pouted her lips to disguise a smile, they only became more appealing.

"You've gone all quiet, Granger," said Draco, unable to resist the tease. "Something I said?"

"Hardly," she retorted quickly. "Your bark is worse than your bite."

He arched an eyebrow. "You haven't seen me bite yet, Granger."

She giggled, to his surprise. "Wasn't that a tad cliché?"

"Perhaps, but it seemed like too good an opportunity to ignore."

"No, it was too obvious." She paused and tilted her chin to regard him with an almost victorious expression. "Makes me think that maybe you're nervous, too."

He snorted, but it was forced and unconvincing. The distant glow of the last streetlamps dissipated behind them, and in the distance the silhouette of his house slowly manifested in the navy darkness, highlighted by moonbeams. The temperature seemed to dip as they left the light, and already there was a crisp frost clinging to the blades of grass, snapping beneath their footsteps like brittle fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Granger's tense shoulders quivering and her hands twiddling in front of her.

"You sure you don't want me to walk you home, Granger?" asked Draco. "You seem-"

"No, I'm fine," she replied. "I'm just cold. I hope your house is bloody warm."

"It will be once the fire is started. I suppose if I was wearing a coat I could offer it to you in some conventional chivalric manner, but I doubt any coat would be able to go over that massive jumper. It looks thick enough to stop a bullet."

He was really beginning to enjoy the way the corners of her lips twitched upwards. When he said something droll, he caught himself glancing at her mouth and he would feel a slight flicker of triumph when her lips curled in response to him.

As they stepped over the threshold of his home and walked into the living room, he studied Granger curiously as her eyes flitted around, absorbing every detail and no doubt making all sorts of deductions about his character based on the shade of his curtains. Had she remembered their Hogwarts years, she might have commented on the colours: slate-grey walls with black and emerald green furnishings and accents. So typical of his Slytherin history, but he genuinely liked the richness of those timeless shades and hues.

While she admired his grand, stone, open-hearth fireplace, Draco glanced around the space, ensuring there were no magical items that might have slipped his mind, but he knew they were all in the locked back room. After Mr Fletcher had invited himself into his home with a food delivery a few years back, he had ensured to keep his broom, books and other magical paraphernalia out of sight, with the exception of his wand, but he knew that was in his kitchen drawer.

"I'm just going to get changed out of my running clothes," he said.

"Okay," she nodded, still carefully scrutinising every inch of the room. "Shall I start the fire? Do you have any matches?"

He hesitated, realising he had only ever used his wand to ignite a fire, but a quick transfiguration spell would remedy that. Stepping into the kitchen, he kept his eye of the door as he removed his wand and transformed a candle into a box of matches. Tossing them to Granger and then heading upstairs, he shrugged out of his running clothes and cast a quick charm to eradicate the musky scent of sweat. He donned a pair of black jeans and a black jumper before returning downstairs to a roaring fire that roused dancing and intimate shadows. Almost predictably, he found Granger perusing his bookshelf, gliding her fingers nimbly across the spines.

They were all Muggle books, the vast majority of which would probably seem rather mundane to her. Many spanned the magical and Muggle worlds, such as books on Arthurian legend, Greek mythology, and astronomy, and they sometimes provided him with a dose of nostalgia. Others were more for research purposes. Although he did his best to avoid the muggles on the island, some conversations were unavoidable and included references that were unfamiliar to him, so he had purchased various books on history, but also texts about music, media and even fairytales. But the ones that he had read the most were what the Muggles often referred to as 'the classics'. Writers like Shakespeare, Orwell, Austen, Dickens, Hardy, Woolf, and many more. Some he enjoyed, some he did not, but he couldn't deny there were some talented Muggle writers in the world.

"Not what I was expecting," said Granger, apparently aware of his presence.

"What were you expecting?"

"I'm not sure, really. Perhaps a bunch of boring books on corporate strategies and the like."

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You weren't the only avid reader at school, Granger."

"I can see. A lot of these are on my reading list. I have a lot to catch up on."

Her curious fingers stopped on a particular book and she pulled it from its nesting spot, staring at the cover with pensive eyes. Draco craned his neck to read the title and he inhaled slowly when he spotted that she had selected a hardback book about Merlin. Delicately thumbing the intricate decorative dents of the cover, she seemed lost in her own world, her gaze distant and her movements slow, and Draco wondered if he should disturb her trance. Finally, she lifted her eyes to him, and he only realised he'd been holding his breath when his lungs began to ache.

"Can I borrow this one?" she asked.

He exhaled, uncertain if he felt relieved or disappointed. "Borrow whatever you like."

"Thank you," she said, putting the book to the side.

"What do you drink, Granger?" he asked, eager to shift the topic.

"Oh...I don't really know. My friends told me I liked cider, but when I tried it, I wasn't that keen. What do you have?"

"Whiskey, wine, or water."

"How alliterative."

Draco grinned and huffed out a short laugh. "Which one do you fancy?"

"I'll try wine," she said. "White, if you have it."

"Okay. And you can sit down, by the way, Granger. You don't need to hover around like the sofa might swallow you."

Waiting until she sat down and rolling his eyes at her stiff, uncertain posture, Draco headed back to the kitchen to retrieve their drinks, pouring himself a whiskey. His kitchen window was open and he could hear Aetos' baritone hoots and the hushed strokes of the waves outside, but everything else was quiet. He didn't know why, but he thought the low rumble of a distant storm might be more appropriate for the moment, like a foreshadowing drum-roll to serve as a warning about the situation. But all was settled. All was reassuringly calm. He picked up the drinks and returned to Granger. After passing her the wine, Draco settled himself on his well-worn armchair, consciously putting some space between them so she would feel at ease.

"You don't have any pictures," said Granger suddenly, gesturing around the room. "Of family or friends."

He shrugged, thinking of the small collection of five or six magical pictures he had hidden in the back room. "I'm not really a picture person."

"Do you keep in touch with anyone from school?"

"Just a couple. They work at my company, so I see them occasionally."

"What are their names?"

He hesitated, making a mental note to add to the folder Potter had given him. "Theo and Blaise."

"Would I have known them?" she asked.

"You weren't friends. They were in my..." He paused when he almost said 'House'. "They were in my group."

"What exactly does your company do?"

"Manufacturing and distribution of rare ingredients," he said. Technically it wasn't a lie; he simply omitted the part about them being potion ingredients. "And you work for Plymouth University, right?"

Granger narrowed her eyes with suspicion. "How did you-"

"Relax. Potter told me when I saw you in the cafe. Something to do with translating?"

"Yes, I just translate old Latin manuscripts and texts into English, really. I've only actually been to the University twice since I woke up." She hesitated and rubbed her lips together. "It's weird...I just feel like my job doesn't suit me sometimes."

Draco frowned. "You don't like your job?"

"No, it's fine. I just feel like I would prefer to be in a job with other people," she explained, sipping her wine."Working alone at home gets... quite lonely. But I shouldn't complain. I guess I should be grateful that I remembered the Latin or I might not have a job at all."

"I have a question about that," he said. "Potter told me you lost all your memories after you were eleven years old. Shouldn't you think you're still that age?"

"Well, I lost the majority of my memories after the age of eleven, but I do have these odd flashes from other years, all the way up until the year I had the accident. They were never of school or Harry and Ron. They were usually just little moments with my parents or a trip to London by myself. I guess that's why I feel my age."

Draco nodded absently, realising that those seemingly random sparks of memory were likely some of those rare moments when she hadn't been thinking about the Magical world, and thus they hadn't been erased by her deflected memory charm. By the crackling glow of the fire, he could see the subtle sorrow hiding in the depths of her amber eyes as she talked about her parents, and that stabbing pang of guilt was back. He missed the amused curl of her lips.

"For what it's worth," he said, watching her mouth. "Even if you had woken up with your eleven-year-old mind, you would probably still be one of the brightest people on this island.

"Is that a compliment to me or an insult to everyone else?"

"Probably a bit of both," he grinned. "But I'm not exaggerating. You were infuriatingly intelligent and excelled in all our subjects. Trying to outdo you was exhausting."

Granger looked up with interest."Trying to outdo me?"

"I was always second to you," he admitted reluctantly, but it was worth the glint in her eyes. "You needn't look so smug about it, Granger."

"I bet that was frustrating, considering your elitism," she said, finally relaxing her shoulders. "What else was I like?"

"Oh, come on, Granger. Potter and your other friends must have told you all this."

"They have, but they're inevitably biased. What did you think I was like? Aside from too working-class, of course."

Draco clicked his tongue and cocked his head to side. "Much as you are now. Argumentative, stubborn, ambitious, eager to prove yourself..." He trailed off and his brow creased. "A lot like me in many ways, but in none of the ways that mattered to me back then."

"Sounds like we might have been friends had it not been for your prejudices," she commented quietly.

"Hm," he hummed. "Perhaps."

"Well," she said, blushing slightly. "I'm glad we're...friends now."

He smirked at her and arched an eyebrow. "We're definitely not friends, Granger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Hey all, apologies it’s taken me a while! I’m also working on another multi-chap war fic which I plan to upload the first chapter of soon and then I intend to post chapters for both intermittently. That’s the plan!  
> Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!  
> Bex


	12. The Daylight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Tall Heights - Growing

** Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights **

**~.~**

Chapter 12: The Daylight

.

Apparently he had fallen asleep. Draco could recall quite vividly Granger and him talking about the dismal state of the community library. He remembered glancing at the clock and registering that it was almost two o’clock in the morning. Beyond that, his memory was rather hazy and fleeting, only recalling flickering moments of chatting with Granger, barely shadows of memories.

Lifting his head, his eyes went straight to her asleep on his sofa with her wild hair spread out around her on the cushion like sunbeams. She was tucked underneath one of the throws that usually adorned the backs of his sofas, and he realised that one was also covering him. Instinctively, he knew she had draped the throw over him, and he didn’t know whether to roll his eyes or grin at her gesture.

Carefully and silently, he sat up in his armchair and arched his back to ease the ache in his spine. Some tenacious embers were still whispering in the fire and there was the slightest hint of gold seeping into the navy sky, signalling the imminence of sunrise. He shifted his eyes to the clock and saw it was almost eight o’clock. He tried not to chuckle when Granger made an unusual sound in her sleep, something between a snore and a hum, but despite the sound being of her own making, it seemed to rouse her from her slumber. Blinking a few times and gracelessly shifting her position on the couch — and very nearly tumbling to the floor in the process— she looked around with confused eyes before they settled on him.

“Morning,” he said, his morning voice throaty and gruff.

“Good morning,” returned Granger, as she sat up. “You haven’t been up for hours creepily watching me sleep, have you?”

Draco grinned. “No, I just woke up, too. I’m guessing I fell asleep and you tucked me in.”

Her smile was sleepy but radiant. “That makes me sound creepy.”

“Certainly does.”

“You drifted off around three o’clock,” she explained. “I thought you might get cold after the fire went out.” She paused and looked down at her lap. “Thank you for last night. I had a nice time.”

Draco snorted and shrugged his shoulders. “We didn’t really do anything, Granger.”

“I know, but staying up all night, chatting about nothing...I liked it.”

“Okay,” he replied, adjusting his posture with unease. “I guess...I’ve had worse conversations.”

He expected offence to steal her features, but all he saw was sincere, half-suppressed amusement. Tittering softly, she lifted her hands to comb away some of the tangles that had nested in her hair overnight and, once again, that seemingly innocuous gesture held Draco’s attention. Despite the fact she’d only seemed to agitate her waves and curls into more of a mess, she then stretched her arms above her head and arched her back like a content cat. He wanted to kiss her again.

“Do something with me today,” blurted out Draco.

Granger’s face blanched with surprise, but a smile quickly graced her features. “I’m presuming that’s a request rather than a demand. You’re not very good at asking for things, are you? Typical spoilt rich kid.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her teasing tone. “Is that a yes or no, Granger?”

“I guess it depends what you’re asking. Do you mean a date?”

He balked. “You make it sound so naff. I just meant we could do...something.”

“Well I must say,” she said, her eyes glinting with mirth. “You have a certain knack for specificity.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps a little.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth again, watching the way it curved with delight. “Do you want to then, Granger?” he asked.

“Okay,” she replied. “We could go to the pub for a couple of drinks.”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ve only been to three of the pubs here, so you could show me one of the others.”

Draco snorted and shook his head. “I haven’t been to any of the pubs, Granger.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “You’re joking.”

“No. When I told you I like to keep people at arm’s length, I wasn’t exaggerating.”

“I know, but you’ve lived here for what? Six years? And you’ve never been to any of the pubs?”

“Not once,” he said crisply. “So, I’ll leave the destination to you. Preferably not somewhere packed and loud, Granger.”

Granger tilted her head to the side, studying him for a few seconds as she tossed the throw off her and returned it to the back of the couch. Apparently she had removed her thick yellow jumper before she fell asleep and she was clad in a white, oversized t-shirt that had been underneath. The bottom seam had gathered slightly, exposing a hint of her midriff, and Draco chewed his tongue to distract himself. Fuck, he really wanted to kiss her again.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he left the armchair with a sudden, smooth movement, moved to the couch, and leaned over her. He paused a moment to check for any signs of trepidation, but she simply smiled up at him and pinched her lower lip with her teeth before she cupped his face and kissed him like she’d also been thinking about it all morning. She leaned back, sinking into the cushions and pulling him closer, and she felt like bliss beneath him. Her fingernails scraped back his hair and grazed the veins in his throat as his hands gripped her waist, digging into that spot of exposed skin he had seen moments before. When they pulled away, her cheeks were hot, her breath was heavy, and she was pushing her chest into his. Lifting his hand to coil one of her loose curls around his finger, he smirked down at her with lowered eyelids.

“Or you could just stay here,” whispered Draco, his voice husky.

“I need a shower.”

“I have a shower.”

“Hm,” hummed Granger, breathy and quiet. “Too soon.”

“I know,” he said, lifting himself up and sitting back on his haunches. “I was only half joking.”

She sat up and rubbed her slightly swollen lips together. “Let’s see how you do after a few...I was going to say dates, but we’ve established that word isn’t in your vernacular. Why don’t you come to my house around six o’clock?”

“Okay. You’re not expecting some dull, overcompensating romantic gesture, are you? Like me arriving with a bouquet of cheap flowers or a horse and carriage.”

She scoffed and laughed a little. “No, just nice and casual.”

“Casual,” he repeated as she reached for her yellow jumper and pulled it over her head. “That suits me fine.”

After tugging on her boots, she leaned forward to peck his lips like it was already second nature to her, and then she stood up, heading for the door. “I’ll see you later,” she said over her shoulder, and then she was gone.

In the sobering silence of her absence, Draco’s brow wrinkled with thought. It was easy to allow himself to be distracted when they were kissing, or even simply talking. She felt like a different person from the Granger from his childhood because, in many ways, she was a different person. And her forgotten past also meant he could detach himself from that distant, spiteful teenage version of himself. When they were together, he felt like they were cut off from the rest of the world, like figurines wandering in a snow globe.

But when she was gone, it all came back to him. The uncertainty, the guilt, and the burning reminder that this would probably all come crashing down around him like a hailstorm. As if to punctuate his misgivings, he heard Aetos flutter into the kitchen and knew he would be carrying his monthly reminder to send a check-in card to the Ministry. Sucking in a heavy, resentful breath, he frowned at where Granger had slept before he headed to the kitchen, wishing she had stayed a little longer to chase away reality.

.

* * *

.

With his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black coat, Draco frowned at the ground as he slowly walked to Granger’s cottage. Although it was barely six o’clock in the evening, the sun had long vanished, but the sky was clear and the moon was full and bright, making the fresh frost glitter and sparkle like tiny diamonds. Despite his best efforts to ignore it, that knot of trepidation coiled around his stomach only seemed to tighten as he neared her home, but he wasn’t sure why. Was it because of the layers of dishonesty and complexity that inevitably came with the situation? Or was it because he actually liked Granger? Both of the options were burdened with complicated and convoluted questions.

As the cottage emerged from the darkness, a delicate wisp of smoke leaking out of the chimney, his heart pounded a little heavier, thumping in his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt nervous, but before he could even knock on her door, Granger opened it and greeted him with a stunning smile that seemed to settle his racing heartbeat.

“Bit eager, Granger?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m just surprised you actually came,” she said playfully. “I was half expecting you to change your mind.”

A smirk pulled at his mouth. “Proving you wrong is vaguely satisfying.”

“I wouldn’t get used to it.”

Draco’s chuckle was brief but impossible to stifle and, again, his heartbeat seemed to slow a little more. “We’ll see about that, Granger.”

“Let’s go then,” she said, and they began to walk toward town. “I thought The Mermaid Pub might be best. You said you wanted somewhere quiet. I’ve been a few times and it’s always been rather quiet or empty.”

“Sounds fine. As I said to you before, I would have been more than happy just having a couple of drinks at my house or yours.”

Granger cocked her head and eyed him dubiously. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

He scoffed and shook his head. “On the contrary, Granger. You’re simply the only person I want to see.”

Apparently, she was rather flattered by his response, and even in the dim light, he could see a subtle blush steal her cheeks. All those loud misgivings he’d felt before were now quiet and dormant, barely a murmur at the back of his mind. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, thinking back to how Lovegood had suggested that without his blood prejudices, he would have seen Granger as the charming woman she was. And she truly was charming.

“You are far too scornful of the people who live here,” she chided. “They’ve been nothing but lovely to me. Perhaps a little nosy, but well-intentioned and kind. I think you just never gave them a chance because you don’t like people very much.”

Draco shrugged. “I like my privacy and people have a habit of being disappointing.”

“Not all people. And sometimes even the ones who disappoint you in the beginning can turn out okay in the end.”

He turned his head to regard her. “Was that directed at me?”

“Evidently,” she said, smiling back at him. “Everyone deserves a chance. Sometimes two.” 

Draco’s mouth twitched, but he struggled to utter a sarcastic retort. That was the thing about Granger; one word from her could knock him off his rhythm in a way that was somehow both daunting and edifying. For the rest or their walk to The Mermaid Pub, they chatted more about the island and its eclectic locals, and Draco was relieved she didn’t ask about their school days. Not only did it mean he didn’t have to worry about saying something contradictory to what Potter had told her, but it also meant he could continue pretending that those dark days, when he would have more likely spat at Granger rather than kissed her, were nothing more than a distant shadow. 

The Mermaid Pub was one of those old establishments that was trapped in a long-forgotten decade, but was all the more charming for that reason. The wooden-panelled walls, wooden furniture, and wooden ceiling beams were all speckled with wormwood holes and the lighting was dim yet warm. In the corner stood a drooping, plastic Christmas tree, haphazardly smothered in tinsel and mismatched baubles, and blinking fairy lights with several broken bulbs were coiled around the beams. As Granger had assured him, it was quiet, with only about twenty people inside, some of whom Draco recognised.

Ross Day, the postman who wore shorts even in the winter, was sat at a table with his wife, Melinda, who worked at the garage. Louise and Sharon Chambers, two elderly sisters who owned one of the biggest hotels on the island, were sat at another table, both nursing glasses of sherry. Seated at the bar were Carl Matthews, Otis Watson, and Rachel West, three of the island’s small fire-fighting crew. The rest of the customers were familiar faces whose names Draco could not recall, but the majority lifted their heads to smile and greet Granger, some waving amiably at her like she was already a valued member of their community. A few cast intrigued and confused looks in his direction, evidently wondering what St Mary’s new darling was doing in the company of the aloof, conceited recluse. Truth be told, he didn’t blame them.

“I’ll get the first round,” announced Granger. “Why don’t you grab that table by the window? I’m guessing you’d like a drink?”

Draco nodded absently, still feeling several pairs of eyes studying him with interest. Walking over to the table Granger had gestured to, he did his best to ignore their prying stares, instead focussing his attention on Granger as she went to the bar. He almost grinned as he watched her; she practically glowed as she chatted with the barman and the fire-fighters. Even at a distance, he was captivated by the pretty creasing of her nose and the subtle dents of dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. It all looked so easy to her; chatting and mingling cordially with the locals. He wondered if she’d been like this before her memory had been erased, or if the war had affected her— made her quieter and more cautious of the world.

There was no way he could know. He hadn’t seen her in person since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the few Prophet articles he’d read in the year before he moved to the Isles of Scilly had mainly focused on her career path in the Ministry. She was very much the Granger he remembered: academic, stubborn, passionate, but had she remained that way after the war? Which version of Granger had he kissed? And how far removed was this Granger from the one who existed before Potter’s clumsy mistake?

But all those plaguing questions seemed to dissipate like mist as she walked over to him with a striking smile, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a glass of mulled wine in the other. “Is whiskey okay?” she asked. “Sorry, I should have asked.”

“Whiskey’s fine,” he replied.

“Good. I got you a posh one, rich boy.”

He huffed out a short laugh. “Mulled wine doesn’t seem like your drink.”

“I might not be. I just thought I’d give it a try. And it’s Christmassy.”

A low groan rumbled through Draco’s throat. “Bloody Christmas.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those miserable, Scrooge people,” she said. “You don’t like Christmas?”

“No. It’s just a lot of bright lights and tacky music and unnecessary gift-giving.”

“Don’t you visit family and friends?”

“No, I just stay at home and ignore it,” he replied, shrugging.

Granger leaned forward, evidently confused. “Do you decorate your home?”

“What for? It’s only me living there.”

She rubbed her lips together tentatively. “Well, I was going to ask if you’d like to come to my house this week and help me put up my Christmas decorations.”

He grinned at the slightly nervous hitch to her tone. “Of course I’ll give you a hand, Granger. Just don’t expect me to dance to shit Christmas music and scoff mince pies.”

“You don’t like mince pies?” she asked, as if the prospect horrified her.

“They’re not too bad,” he acquiesced. “Are you staying here for Christmas?”

“No, I’m spending it with Luna.”

“Not Potter and Weasley?”

Granger’s face creased up with bemusement. “Weasley?”

Draco’s stomach sunk to his ankles and his eyes widened a fraction. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, pumping loudly in his ears, but he quickly corrected himself and cleared his throat. “It was just a nickname I had for Williams in school. He does look a bit like a weasel.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied, apparently satisfied with that explanation. “I think they’re visiting at some point during the day, but I’ll be at Luna’s house.”

Draco took a slow sip of whiskey, stealing the moment to calm his pacing heart. Merlin, he needed to be more careful. He absently wondered how Lovegood was going to provide the facade of a Muggle Christmas, but he was sure Potter and the others had constructed some complex operation months ago.

“Are you spending New Year with Lewis, too?” he asked.

“No, I’m flying back the day after Boxing Day,” she explained, smiling coyly. “And then on New Year’s Day, I’m doing the New Year Dip.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not talking about when all the local morons go swimming in the sea?”

She chuckled a little and nodded her head. “I certainly am.”

“You are bloody mental, Granger. Which idiot talked you into that death wish?”

“Tim Miller.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“Do you want to do it, too?”

“Not a sodding chance.”

Granger pursed her lips and lowered her lashes. “Would you come anyway? You could hold a towel and...you know, dry me off afterward.”

Draco caught the subtle but definite shift in her tone and the pink stain on her cheeks, and his mouth twitched up into a smirk. “You mean warm you up?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t have any other plans that day,” he said.

He wished he could kiss her, but he had never been one for displays of affection or lust with an audience nearby. A silence comfortably settled between them as they both sipped their drinks, but this silence felt lively and volatile, like how the air crackles during a thunderstorm. But then Granger was narrowing her eyes, studying him like a puzzle that had vexed her for months, and that static that had fizzled in the room evaporated.

Granger chewed her lip. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve lived here a few months now, and I’ve noticed that most people move to these small islands for one of two reasons: either to start a new life or to run away from their past.” She paused and looked at him steadily. “Which one are you?”

He knew the answer, but he still hesitated before he replied, “Probably the latter.”

She nodded and looked down at the table. “Which one do you think I am?”

Draco tapped his chin thoughtfully before he furtively stretched out his hand and grazed his fingers across her knuckles. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m...I’m glad you landed here.”

.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Hello lovelies! Sorry this has taken me so long, I really struggle with writing the fluffier moments and it takes e a bit longer to map out chapters…Thank you if you’re sticking with me! And if you’re reading my other fic I just started! 
> 
> I’m mixed on this chapter but hopefully it’s okay…Let me know what you think.  
> Read and review and all that jazz  
> Bex


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